Snow Day
by MadameFanzel
Summary: No one likes having everyone side against them on principle. Sadly, that's exactly what happened to Maureen... But, just maybe, a new friend will take her side when the rest of the world refuses... Mojo. Mostly musicalverse. Conspiracy theory-esque because I'm kind of insane. *Trigger warnings: cutting, anorexia* *ON HIATUS*
1. Nowhere

[Author's Note/Summary/Disclaimer: This is a Mojo fic about how the two met and how their relationship developed pre-, during-, and post-RENT. The basic premise of the story is that Mark and Maureen's breakup didn't happen quite the way we were told it did. So, read on and see how the madness unfolds. Getting a review is the highlight of my day, and constructive criticism is extremely appreciated! Thank you for reading! … Musicalverse. Slightly AU and slightly OOC for Maureen and especially Mark, depending on how you look at it. Rated T because it's RENT. I do not own any part of RENT and do not claim any aspect of RENT used in this story in any way. And, always, thank you, Jonathan Larson.]

Snow Day

Chapter One: Nowhere

November 9th, 12:00 PM, EST

I wince as I push open the door and feel the frigid, early November air wash over me. Soft, dusty snow is quickly transforming into a full-scale blizzard capitalizing on the fact that this is shaping up to be a long, hard winter for the city of New York. But I suppose that, for the time being, I shouldn't complain: after all, we're using the inclement weather as our perfect excuse to close the firm at noon today, and I'm willing to brave the bitter-cold, twelve-block trek from the south end of Chelsea to the North end of the Greenwich Village for the sake of a snow day.

I'm interrupted from these musings when I turn off of 14th Street and into the little-used back alley that opens onto the corner of Hudson Street and 13th Street. On a typical day, when I'm walking home after dark, I would never come this way: when you live in this city, they teach you very early on that you do not enter back alleys at night. But in mid-afternoon, I see no real issue with this place- and it gets me home that minute or two faster. So, my train of thought vanishes as I become aware of an unfamiliar shape a few yards further into the alley, rendered unidentifiable by the torrents of snow blowing through.

On high alert, I walk slowly, tending toward the opposite side of the alley. As I approach, though, I discover the shape to be a person- a woman- sitting with a worn-out duffel bag a foot or so away and her knees hugged to her chest. Her face is hidden, and as far as I can tell she hasn't heard my approach over the howling wind. My heart breaks when I see her; maybe I'm too soft, but I've never been able to stand to walk by anyone who's living out on the streets- and especially not in weather like this. "Ex- Excuse me?" I ask, more hesitantly than I'd anticipated. I try again with more determination: "Excuse me?"

This time she hears, and she looks up at me. She's young: younger than I'd expected. To judge by her looks, she can't be more than about eighteen. Standing only a couple of feet away from her by now, I can also tell that she's been crying. She has big, deep, currently wet eyes that look distinctly frightened, and her porcelain skin is splotched red. I move to her side and crouch next to her, her eyes following my every move. "Are you alright?"

The woman falters for a few moments before narrowing her eyes in suspicion and responding with, "Well, I don't see why it really matters." She twirls the fingers of her right hand in her unruly brunette ringlets.

"Of course it matters," I tell her, and then I pause for a second. When I speak again, my voice is softer. "You don't have anywhere to go to get out of this weather?"

She bites her lower lip, endearingly smudging her cherry-red lipstick all over her front teeth. "I don't know… I mean, I could've gone to The Space, I guess, but that place turns into an ice rink this time of year… And I don't wanna deal with the people either."

"Forgive my ignorance, but what is 'The Space', exactly?"

"Ignorance? Actually, I think I should be asking you to forgive my low-class, East Village lifestyle." The woman flashes a wide, youthful, and rebellious grin, silently saying that she doesn't need or want my forgiveness. "But, anyway, The Space is my performance space- it's over toward the middle of the East Village- on 11th Street."

I nod. "Performance artist, I take it?"

There's that smile again: a little crooked, a little too wide, and a little bit perfect. "Yep!"

"But, seriously, you really don't have a better place to go than some back alley in the Greenwich Village?" I feel a little guilty as I watch her face fall and her eyes cloud with tears. She just shakes her head. "Well, come on then," I say, standing up and holding out my hand. The woman gives me a look of both shock and apprehension.

"Wh- what do you mean?"

"I mean, come on!" I say amiably as I pull her to her feet and collect my briefcase from where it lays snow-covered in the street. "I'm not leaving you alone out here in the cold."

"Okay… I mean, if you… I don't… I don't know…" Her voice gradually fades out and I can tell she's close to tears again.

"What do you say we wander up to that coffee shop on 9th Avenue and 15th Street?" She looks at me curiously with those big eyes and nods. "I'm Joanne, by the way," I tell her as we walk.

She smiles at me. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Joanne. I'm Maureen."

The rest of the walk passes in companionable silence.


	2. Disproportion

Snow Day

Chapter Two: Disproportion

November 9th, 1:00 PM, EST

"What's it going to be?" I ask Maureen as we approach the counter.

"Oh, no. I'm not about to let you pay for me-"

But I cut her off, saying, "Just don't argue. It's one cup of coffee. Your pride will be fine."

She gives me a look of shock mixed with a bit of indignation, but when I flash her a smile, she smiles back, biting her lip again. "I guess, um, I'll have a hot chocolate. If you're sure you don't mind. I mean…"

I just smile and shake my head. We turn away from each other as I go up to the counter, and she goes to sit at a small wood table in the corner. Deciding Maureen's order sounds pretty appealing to me, too, I meet her at the corner table with two cups of hot chocolate. Hers, I hand to her before taking a seat across from her.

"Thank you," Maureen says quietly, earnestly.

"You're welcome," I tell her, and then I pause for a moment while I try to decide exactly what I want to ask her. "So, how, or why, is it that I found you sitting in the snow crying in a back alley that almost no one knows about?" I study the young woman across from me as she sips her drink and avoids eye contact.

At first glance, there is something very plain about her appearance. Plain and hollow, due to the fact that her cheekbones are so prominent that they make her cheeks look almost sunken in. But maybe also hollow because of sadness. As you look closer, though, you realize how striking she is. There's an almost hypnotic effect about her: once you start to really look at her, you can't stop. She has very bold facial features: too big for her face itself, really, but the only effect of this disproportion is to make her that much more beautiful. She has full lips, which must be fairly pale to judge by how intensely red her lipstick appears on them. She has quite possibly the largest eyes I've ever seen before- dark, rich hazel and penetrating. Her hair is an almost-elegant mess of loose, brown-verging-on-black ringlets, and I briefly wonder if her hair is as naturally curly as mine or if she has to make it curl like that. Her porcelain skin is still flushed from the cold. I realize as I look at her that she's probably actually a little older than I had thought before: maybe twenty or so. But she could still easily pass as eighteen, even upon close examination. Finally, after a lengthy pause, Maureen interrupts my observations:

"Well, I just stumbled across it. It's not like I knew it was there or anything," she says frankly, meeting my gaze head on.

"You know that's not what I mean," I prod gently.

She drops her eyes slowly, and then she waits for a few moments and even more slowly brings them back up to mine, which haven't left hers for an instant. The confident, outgoing presence she had displayed only moments ago seems to melt off of her, and she suddenly looks very small and strangely fragile sitting across from me. I now realize how tiny she is. She can't be much more than five feet tall, and thin, too. Maureen drops her eyes quickly when she sees that I'm still looking at her, and without looking up she says, "It's such a long story. You don't want to listen to all of that."

"Try me." I realize that my 'lawyer voice' is starting to come out and make a mental note to watch my tone.

"No… No, really. We'd be here all night."

"I'm free if you are." We spend the next few minutes silently sipping hot chocolate and eyeing each other about half as discreetly as we'd like to be.

"Can we go?" she asks me quietly. "I- I guess, I mean, I feel like maybe- if you don't mind, of course- I mean, what I'm trying to say is," she pauses and takes a deep breath to steady her trembling voice, "What I'm trying to say is, I'd kind of like to be able to talk about everything. Just… so I don't have to keep carrying it all around inside my head." She's talking faster and faster, and the rest comes out in a rush. "I don't want to dump all this stuff on you if you don't want to hear it, and- trust me- you don't. But if you're going to keep on thinking that you do, then I guess I might as well tell you about it, but I just don't want to do it here because there are so many people and I know I'll start crying again, and… and… I'm sorry." She finishes in a whisper.

I nod. "Let's go," I whisper. We throw away our now empty paper coffee cups; we step outside, and I'm shocked by how badly the streets and sidewalks have iced over. It's a good thing we closed early today; but not only because of the weather. Certainly not. I slip my hand into Maureen's and give it what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. It seems to work because she grips my hand in a way that makes it clear she isn't planning on letting go anytime in the near future.

"Well…" she begins, "I guess I should start with…" Her voice cracks on the final word of her sentence: a name. "Mark."


	3. Small World

Snow Day

Chapter Three: Small World

November 9th, 2:00 PM, EST

"Mark is… _was_… my boyfriend. And I shouldn't care that he's not anymore because I've known all along that we wouldn't work. We _couldn't_ work," Maureen tells me. "I'm kind of afraid of what you'll say to this, just because of… well, yeah, but, um… I'm a lesbian."

She looks over at me out of the corner of her eye. "Small world," I say with a shrug and a little smirk.

She turns her head so she can actually look at me. "Seriously?" she asks. "You?"

"Does that bother you?" This comeback earns me a broad grin and, if I'm not mistaken, the faintest hint of a giggle.

"Of course not! I just wouldn't have expected it, I guess."

"So where were we? Let's see… you're a lesbian, but you were dating a guy?"

"I know, I know. It's stupid. It's really stupid. It's pathetic, actually, but… I came out this morning."

"…Oh." I am in almost immediate disbelief of how pathetic a response this is.

"Yeah." Both of us are silent for a few blocks, until I realize that Maureen has begun to cry. I gently pull her to the inside edge of the sidewalk and turn her to face me. She keeps her head turned to the side, looking at anything and everything but my face. I move my hands to her shoulders, and when this doesn't earn any response, I gently lift my left thumb and nudge her chin to turn toward me.

"That was a stupid thing to say, and I'm sorry. What I should done is ask you this: who did you talk to and how did they take it?"

"Just Mark. I didn't bother with my parents because they've all but disowned me already, and I didn't feel like any of my other friends needed to know that badly either. So, just him. But I'm sure Roger heard." I can't help but note that she rushed over the part about her parents.

"Please don't try to act like you don't care about your family. I can see that that's what you're trying to do."

"I honestly wouldn't care," Maureen practically whimpers, "but I'm all worked up about Mark, so it's just bothering me more than it should." Tears stream down her face, and I try to brush one away. But she ducks her head away from my hand and starts walking again. I can see the wet trails leading down her cheeks beginning to freeze in the harsh wind.

"I shouldn't care that he's gone. I mean, I wasn't _in love _with him. And I can't believe I led him on like that, but I just… I love him. I don't have to be in love with him to love him right?"

"Right. Definitely right."

She takes a ragged breath and places her hand in mine again. "I just don't get how I can have a broken heart over someone I was never even in love with." There is another long silence, which lasts for the last two blocks of our walk and until we get onto the back staircase of my building, which is nothing but a commercial building with two floors of apartments on the third and fourth levels.

"Sorry it's kind of… whatever you would call this… It's temporary, I hope, but student loans for law school aren't cheap, you know."

"Are you kidding me? I've spent the last two years in an East Village loft with six people and almost no furniture, and now I don't even live in a building. I think you're fine," she laughs, and I suddenly realize how shallow I must seem to her. After a minute, she says almost to herself, "A lawyer, huh? So that explains why you're all dressed up." I don't say anything to that; just smile at her a little, as I push open the door to the stairwell and lead her to apartment 23: second door on the right. We walk in, set our things down by the door, and head to the couch.

Maureen sits down gingerly on the very edge. "I guess what I was trying to say about Mark is that I think maybe I'm not really brokenhearted. I think maybe I'm just jealous… or something." More tears. "It's just, I normally think of myself as being a confident person- with some things at least- but Mark was really good at making me feel like I'm worth nothing."

"That's not true, Maureen," I tell her softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looks at me with wide eyes, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so innocent. At least not anyone older than three.

"How do you know?" she asks me without even a hint of sarcasm. It breaks my heart.

"Because every person is worth something. Actually, that's the whole reason being a federal prosecutor appealed to me in the first place: I like being able to do something for people who have been treated like they're nothing." Suddenly, forcefully, Maureen throws her arms around my shoulders and clings to me, sobbing until she's struggling for breath. I hug her gently, rubbing her back until she starts to calm down, which takes about five minutes. As suddenly as it began, the hug is over, as Maureen scurries back against the armrest of the couch.

"I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Maureen, I promise."

There is a seemingly endless pause, and then, "Joanne?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."


	4. Summer

[Author's Note: Dearest, darlingest readers and reviewers, first, thank you so much for coming along on this little Mojo journey. I'm sorry that things have been kind of slow so far, but I'm hoping it's going to pick up starting with this chapter. If nothing else, it's longer! Second, I realized as I started working through all the histories in this chapter that my dates were really screwed up based on quotes from RENT, working around dates I'm making up to fill in the blanks, etc. So, I ask you to please note that the current events have been moved from January 1989 to November 1989. I apologize for my idiocy, and I hope you enjoy the ensuing chapter! :P]

Snow Day

Chapter Four: Summer

November 9th, 2:00 PM, EST

"So, what else is there to know about this Mark guy?" I ask after a minute or two.

"Well," Maureen begins again, easing her way back a couple of inches toward the center of the couch, "We met… let's see… six years ago, when I was a freshman and he was a junior. I was always one of the oldest in my class, and he was the absolute youngest in his. And we became really good friends that year. Actually, a bunch of us did: Mark, Collins, Roger, Benny, April, and me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you all of this; it must be so boring."

"No, really, please, go ahead," I tell her. For whatever reason, something tells me she both wants and needs to talk, but I also just really want to listen. It's like she has me in a trance; which isn't necessarily such a great place to be in, but it sure feels good for the moment.

"Okay, but just tell me to shut up whenever you start getting bored," she insists, and I just nod. "So, the six of us were best friends that year. I was a freshman; Benny, Mark, April, and Roger were juniors; and Collins was a senior. So some of us knew each other from elementary school or junior high or wherever, but however it happened we all became best friends. And that year Collins graduated and went to study philosophy at some liberal arts school no one's ever heard of. Then, next year after graduation, Roger and April went to start a rock band together, and Mark studied filmmaking somewhere. Benny went to get a business degree that his parents paid for, and the plan was that he, Mark, and Roger would start the next big film corporation with Mark and Roger doing the creative stuff and Benny handling the money." I nod as she speaks and keep fidgeting with my hands, feeling like I should be taking notes so I can keep this straight.

Maureen notices and giggles a little. "You're such a lawyer, aren't you? There's nobody to prosecute. Just relax." I wish she would keep smiling like that forever.

"Anyway, by the time I graduated and shipped off to the East Village to find some place to crash where I could afford the rent and await my big break as a Broadway star, I discovered all of them except Benny living together in one studio apartment on Avenue A. Benny was going to be a junior in college the next year, so he and a couple other people were renting some place on campus. But, anyway, Roger and April were still together- I guess I never really explained that, but they started dating their senior year- and in terms of their band, they were actually getting some decent gigs that kept rent money coming in; Collins was looking for a job as a professor, but he was making money tutoring for the summer; and Mark was just filming stuff as usual and trying to sell footage to network people who mostly didn't want it."

"Can I interrupt for a second?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay, sorry, it's just… _When _was this happening?"

"Oh, sorry. This is all the summer of… 1986… Yes, 1986 because that's the year I graduated. So, just over three years ago, which seems crazy."

"Okay, so I would have been getting ready to start my second year of law school. All right, I'm with you now. Go ahead."

"Okay… Well, that summer Mark and I started dating."

"You dated him for three years!?" Maureen's face flushes.

"Yes," she says sheepishly, "I think he sort of always had a little crush on me, and I just couldn't say 'no' when he asked me. I always did love him, too; it's just, it was always more of a brother/sister thing for me."

"Well, it's not like I haven't done it, I just… _three years_?" We both have to laugh at that. "I just don't get it. If you really aren't interested in men, what made him good enough to stick with for three years?" Maureen's eyes darken, and she looks down while beginning to chew her lip again. Suddenly, I panic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No. No, it's not that. It's just… You're right. I wouldn't have stayed with him. The plan all along was to break up with him at the end of that summer. Chalk it up to a summer fling and nothing more, and move on: go back to just being friends like before." I can hear that Maureen's throat is tightening, and I wish I could do something to comfort her. But based on her reaction from before, I'm not so sure she would like that.

So I stay put and instead ask, "So what got in your way?"

"Collins," she squeaks.

"The philosophy guy, right?"

"Yeah, he's the philosophy professor. In August of 1986 we found out that he has AIDS."

"Oh, Honey…" I whisper.

"He's my best friend in the whole world, and now I'm constantly scared that he's going to get sick, and… and… and then he'll be gone." I slowly slide across the couch and wrap my arms around her. She does the same, and I'm pretty sure she's grateful to have someone- something, anything- to hold onto. It makes me wonder how long it's been since she's had that kind of support.

Through her tears, Maureen explains, "Mark decided to drop out of college so we could afford Collins' AZT, and I guess we just stayed together because we needed support. I needed support. At that point, if anybody was breaking up with anybody, it was going to be me breaking up with Mark, and I didn't because I didn't want to give up being able to curl up next to him at night and just cry and let him hold me… He used to actually do that." We pull out of our hug, but I keep my hands on her upper arms, just looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everybody started working more, and at weird hours: anything we had to do to keep some semblance of a leaky roof over our heads and the water and power on the majority of the time, plus getting us each at least two meals a day and paying for AZT and other medical stuff. So, basically, Mark and I didn't see each other as much, and he was just different. That winter is when he really started treating me like I was another problem he just didn't have time to deal with."

"That's awful."

"It's really not, I mean, I'm sure that's all I really am. I do a ton of stupid stuff. I'm probably a little bit screwed up because I take things out on myself when I'm upset. And I know I could probably stop if I tried hard enough, but sometimes I just wish he had stayed the way he used to be in high school and that summer after. He didn't used to let me do that stuff."

"What stuff is that?"

"It's… bad. I don't know. Other people think it's bad. I think it makes it easier to deal with things. It's just- and that's why I can't believe I'm here right now- I don't like to tell people anything because I don't want to dump my problems on them. So I do stuff like cut myself or starve myself, and I don't know why I think it helps, but it just does; and don't give me some lecture about how I'm just hurting myself, and I can't keep doing this. Because I know I'm hurting myself, and that's the point, and I'm not going to stop, and I can keep doing it, and nothing anyone says is going to change that!" Maureen is crying so hard while she yells these things at me that I have to struggle to make out what she's saying.

As soon as she finishes her little tirade, Maureen buries her face in her hands and just sobs. Hysterically. As I sit beside her and rub slow circles on her back, I'm struck by the realization that this is probably the first time in a long time that she has really let herself release any emotion in a way that isn't self-destructive. I'd definitely be willing to bet it's the first time in years she's let anyone see this kind of emotion from her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so sorry I yelled at you like that. I'm sorry for crying like this. I just- I'm so sorry." I slide off the couch and kneel in front of her, placing my hands on her knees.

"Maureen, listen to me. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Okay?" She just shakes her head. "First of all, I've seen worse in courtrooms at least a dozen times. And second, I would so much rather you deal with these things like this than do something that's going to hurt you."

"There's no one to go to," she cries. "I didn't really even like Benny that much in the first place because he always treated me like a kid and complained that I'm overly dramatic about everything, and now he's gone anyway. He married some girl named Allison who has some filthy-rich father, and now he and his father-in-law co-own our building. The only good thing about it is that he's not making us pay rent anymore. But, anyway, Collins got a teaching job at MIT and left in May, and I'm scared something will happen to him while he's gone and I'll lose him. And I wanted to tell him that before he left, but I couldn't because I didn't want to make things worse for him. I'm not the one who's sick, so I should just suck it up and deal with it instead of dumping everything on him when he has plenty of his own problems to deal with. And the summer before last, we found out that Roger and April were blowing almost all the money they were making on heroin, and we were all furious. But then, a few months ago- June 2nd- April left this note that said a bunch of stuff, but one of the things is that she and Roger both had AIDS. And then she killed herself! She went in the bathroom, and she slit her wrists with my razor, and she killed herself! And I found her there, and she was _dead_!"

By now, I'm back on the couch with Maureen on my lap, and she's resumed her hysterical sobbing. Everything she has just told me is heart-wrenching and terrifying, and, honestly, just so much to process all at once that I don't have any idea what to say to her. So I just let her cry. Better that than some form of self-torture. Besides, I'm crying now, too. We may as well cry together.


	5. Twisted

Snow Day

Chapter Five: Twisted

November 9th, 4:00 PM, EST

It took quite a while for Maureen to calm down, but when she did, she slid off my lap and just looked at me. Tears were running down my cheeks, and she gently brushed them away. She now allows me to do the same for her. "Do you want to keep going?" I ask quietly while I dry those tears.

"If you don't mind," she whispers, "I think maybe I kind of would." She looks up at me, giving me a searching look. I nod for her to continue, and she takes in a shaky breath before she starts. "It was just Mark, Roger, and me left in the loft when I found her. And I think I would have been okay if I weren't the one who found her. But I did, and I'll have that image of her lying there on our bathroom floor covered in her own blood burned into my mind for the rest of my life. I have nightmares about it, and I wake up screaming for her not to do it… But she already has, and after a few minutes I always remember that and feel even worse than before… That's why I started getting mad at Mark. I honestly might still be with him right now just because then we'd at least have each other, but he doesn't want me.

"After I found April, Mark started completely ignoring me. He fawned over Roger because 'He's devastated. He just found out that he has AIDS, and he found out through a suicide note written by the love of his life; he needs someone right now'… But I needed Mark, too. The only reason I was still with him was so we could help each other through things like this, which seem to be happening to us a lot more often lately. But he didn't want to talk to me because he didn't really need help coping. He was so focused on helping Roger come to terms with everything that was able to grieve and cope through that.

"But I needed him. He didn't care at all, and I finally saw that. He wouldn't let me talk about finding April because Roger might overhear. He found out about the cutting and the anorexia and everything else, and he basically just told me to deal with it. When you get down to it, he loved his best friend more than his girlfriend. And right now, he still loves his best friend more than he ever loved his ex-girlfriend."

Maureen's anger and bitterness are tangible. And understandable. I find myself suddenly enraged that this 'Mark' guy, who evidently once loved my Maureen could do this to her. Wait- _my _Maureen? Apparently I need to cool the protective instincts a bit and remember that this woman isn't _my _anything.

"Then, at the end of June, Roger entered rehab. He said he was going to get off drugs once and for all because it was something he and April always promised each other they would get around to doing eventually. It was horrible. It was one of the scariest things I've ever seen. Mark has been Roger's best friend since the beginning of time, and yet, when he was going through withdrawals Roger would beat Mark up to the point that you'd think Roger hated him." She pauses for a minute, considering what to say next, and when she continues, it is barely above a whisper. "And he did the same thing to me. He never really liked me to begin with, and I think when that would happen the fact that I found her would somehow get twisted in his head to make it my fault."

We both fall silent. I have no idea what to say to that, and Maureen doesn't seem sure of how to continue. Finally, she tells me, "I'm still scared of him. I know it wasn't really his fault, but I can't help being scared. Maybe I really was asking too much all along; but I've just always wished that Mark had tried to keep Roger away from me when he was like that. He saw what happened, but he never did anything about it… And I'm no match for Roger- I'm _less _than no match for Roger… I don't know… I just don't know…"

"Maureen," I say, beginning to tear up again, "Honeybear, I don't think there's much not to know. He should have been a man and protected you. Plain and simple."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Maureen nods slowly, and then starts to grin a little bit: not much, but enough to betray a touch of amusement in spite of her sadness. "What's that grin for?" I ask carefully.

"Honeybear?"

I feel myself blushing furiously. "I- sorry, I don't know- I just sort of- Sorry, I didn't mean- I don't know," I finish pathetically.

"I like it," she says, smiling weakly, "It's cute."

"So it fits you well." Now it's Maureen's turn to blush.


	6. Spark

[Author's Note: Hello, Mojo peeps! I thought I'd go ahead and post a little something mid-week just because I always like having a new chapter of something to read between school and homework… So, I hope you enjoy! More to come on Friday or Saturday. Also, if you haven't, please review- I'd love any feedback you have to offer! And finally, to my one ever-faithful reviewer of this story (you know who you are), THANK YOU! Stay lovely, and know that your reviews make my day! ]

Snow Day

Chapter Six: Spark

November 9th, 5:00 PM, EST

Maureen seems a little flustered by the compliment, but she quickly recovers. "So, that's my story, I guess. The day before yesterday I stopped eating again, and Mark found out, got annoyed with me, and said something about how I have the fewest problems of any of us and need to just get over it and stop doing, as he puts it, 'moronic stuff that's going to get me killed'. And I kind of fell apart, and I was like 'Do you think it's easy for me to deal with finding my friend dead when I'm not even allowed to talk about it?' He just told me that it's no harder for me than it is for him and Roger, so I admittedly lost it, and I just started screaming at him 'At least you have each other! I have no one! You just abandoned me for him!' So he said- I'm sorry, this is turning into such a messed up, he said/she said thing."

"No, no. You're good. I'm still following."

"Okay, so then he said 'He needed me, Maureen! Why do you have to be so dramatic and self-centered about this?' And I asked 'Is it really self-centered to want maybe just ten minutes of my _boyfriend's_ attention every day?' Then Mark said 'You know what, Maureen? I'm done with this. I'm done with you.' And all I could think to tell him was the truth, which was 'You were done with me a long time ago, Mark'. That made him absolutely furious, and he was like 'Get out of here Maureen. We're over now, and I don't want you living here anymore'."

"That's terrible…" I murmur.

I think Maureen is starting to regain a little spark because she adds a dramatic sweep of her hand as she continues, "Ah, but did I go down without a fight? Never. Basically, I just said, 'Your loss'- which it isn't, but I wanted to make it sound good- and then I was like 'Well, whatever, I'm a lesbian anyway. Probably should have told you three years ago, but it's too late now'." Judging by the look on her face, most of the returned spark is gone again, but at least her eyes are staying dry for the time being. I guess maybe I've been able to help her at least a little bit.

Hoping to keep the mood tending toward the lighter side, I ask, "You actually said it like that? That's awesome!"

She tries to laugh, but it turns into more of a choking sound. "Yeah, I said that. The look on his face was hilarious, so it made the whole thing a little less sad… for a few minutes. I mean, after that first summer, I always knew he wasn't really in love with me and we were both just in it to be in it. I just didn't realize that he hated me."

"Oh, Honey, I'm sure he doesn't _hate_ you."

"I'm pretty sure he does. Just trust me, Joanne."

"Okay, I will, but not before you promise me that you understand you're worth so much more than all that."

Next Maureen does something that absolutely shatters my heart into a million pieces: she looks me directly in the eye and says, without emotion, "Oh, I doubt I'll ever be able to promise you that."

We both just look at each other for a long time. Something tells me that Maureen understands the fact that there is so much I want to say to her that I just can't say any of it. Instead, after what must be nearly five minutes of silence, I just ask, "Then you'll at least stay for dinner, won't you?"


	7. Contact

[Author's Note: Sorry this chapter's so short! I was feeling uninspired about the current scenario, but I promise the next chapter or two are going to be super-high-quality to make up for it! Plus, I also have a couple of new oneshots up to hold you over until I get the eighth chapter of this one written. Enjoy, my darlings!]

Snow Day

Chapter Seven: Contact

November 9th, 8:00 PM, EST

Over a dinner of ordered-in Chinese food, Maureen insists that it's my turn to tell _her_ about _me_. I give her the basics: an all-female boarding school called Miss Porter's; a pre-law degree from Amherst College; a law degree from Harvard University; a branch of the firm owned by my parents; my Greenwich Village hole in the wall.

Maureen listens intently and picks at her food, barely eating anything. Part of me thinks I should bring it up: help- and, in a way, force- her to deal with these problems in a way that this Mark kid never did. But I figure it's not worth bringing up right now. She's already been through a lot today.

Instead, I say, "So, you know I have to ask you: do you have anywhere to go for the night?"

"Joanne, no. Just- I know where you're going to try to go with this, and just no."

"So where are you going then?"

_"Why do you care?"_ We both just look at each other for a minute. I'm sure my face is completely blank, but Maureen's contains a look of horror. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear! I just… I'm not really used to having anyone care anymore. I'm sorry."

Something hits me just then, and I smile. "It's fine," I tell her, "but I think I'm going to have to require you to take me up on my offer to spend the night on my couch in order to make up for it."

She just smiles, warmly. "Thank you," she says, and afterward she takes the first real, adult-size bite of food she's had all night.

We lapse into a companionable silence for almost a full ten minutes, until I build up my nerve enough to ask, "Maureen? Where did you think you were going to go before this afternoon?"

"For the night? Or in general?" she asks. The take-out boxes have long since been discarded, and Maureen and I are currently sprawled on the couch, facing each other. The TV is on, but we're both spending less time focusing on that than we are on stealing glances at each other and blushing when we accidentally make eye contact.

She examines the porcelain skin of her hands while slowly coming up with an answer. "Well… two days ago I was thinking maybe I would go find Collins. But since he left for MIT we haven't really had much contact. I don't know what happened- I mean, he's my best friend- but you know how that stuff goes. So then I just figured I'd live on the street until I got enough money together to make it look to some landlord like I actually intended to pay the rent. I guess there are other friends I could have gone to, but I didn't want to make them put up with all the stuff everyone hates about me. I don't want to make you," she finally looks up from her hands and makes eye contact with me, "put up with me either."

"What if I want to put up with you?" I say in a tone that's almost daring her to defy me. "What if I don't see it as 'putting up' with you?"

She laughs. Her laugh is strange, I've noticed: somehow genuine and humorless at once. It sends electricity surging through me. "Well, what do you see it as, then?"

"Helping out a friend who could stand to have someone on her side for once."

Her big, brilliantly emerald eyes bore into me. It's almost frightening the way she seems immune to the need to blink. After a pause, she asks me sincerely, "And how do you know that we're friends? After all, we've only just met."

"I don't know. I've just got a good feeling about you, Maureen."


	8. Trance

[Author's Note: As promised, here's chapter eight! This is sort of the point of no return: from the upcoming chapter on in the rest of the Bohos start to get dragged into the mix, and things will get very convoluted and conspiracy-theory-esque, mostly because I'm insane. Anyway, I'm quite proud of this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!]

Snow Day

Chapter Eight: Trance

November 10th, 3:27 AM, EST

Screaming. Out of nowhere, screaming. Loud, shrill, and terrified screams pierce the room, the apartment, the building, the city. It takes a minute to realize through the haze of interrupted sleep that the screams are radiating out from the couch in my living room. In a matter of seconds I'm kneeling next to the couch, holding Maureen's hand and looking anxiously at the distant expression on her face.

When she feels my hand in hers, Maureen stops screaming, but I can tell tears are starting to form in her eyes. "It's okay, Honeybear…" I whisper. Dang, there's that stupid nickname again. What am I saying? "What happened?"

My voice snaps her out of her apparent trance shockingly fast. She breathes heavily for a couple of minutes, eventually blinking all the tears from her eyes and regaining most of her composure. "Remember what I said about having nightmares about April's… um… suicide?" she whispers. I nod. "Well… yeah. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Don't worry about it. You're alright?"

"Yeah," she says while she plays with the drawstring on the pair of pajama bottoms she borrowed from me upon discovering that she had left her pajamas at her former home, "Yeah. As I'll ever be."

I move to sit on the couch next to Maureen, and she rests her head on my shoulder while I pull a blanket around us. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

"Well, it's just… I'm just some random person you met on the street. I mean, why bother?"

"I don't know, Maureen," I tell her honestly, "It's just my nature, I guess. I'm protective, and I have an innate need to care for people. Besides that, you're pretty charismatic, you know that?" Maureen giggles and fumbles around with the blanket until her right hand finds my left.

"That's the secret to why my protests work," she whispers in a mock devious voice. "They don't know why they take my side, but they just _do._ I won't be denied! They _must _obey me!" We both laugh. It's nice to see her sense of humor start to come out, and it's nice that it's a sense of humor I both understand and enjoy. It's odd. It's narcissistic: it could definitely be taken for real arrogance and dramatics if one didn't understand it, and I can't help but think that that was probably the issue that that guy- the landlord - what _was_ his name? –saw with Maureen. The poor guy probably just couldn't understand that she wasn't meaning to be taken seriously. Yet, underneath, there's something sort of covertly self-deprecating about it. It's like she's trying to act stuck up to hide the fact that she's not very fond of herself. But I'm probably reading far too much into it.

My thoughts are interrupted when Maureen says, "Can I ask you something else?"

"Go for it."

"Do you think it's my fault?"

"What?"

"April. I always think that maybe I just wasn't a good enough friend, and if I had been good enough she'd still be here." She does it again: looks more into me than at me, and I can tell she's searching for any sort of answer I might be able to give her.

"No, no, Maureen," I begin delicately, "I don't think it's your fault at all. The way you explained it to me, I think it sounds like she just couldn't figure out how to deal with the diagnosis. It's not your fault at all."

"But I could have helped her deal with it! If I had been a good enough friend, she would have come talk to me!"

"Look, I'll be honest: I just don't think that's true. I mean, you believe that she and… Sorry, what's his name?"

"Roger?"

"Right! Yes, Roger! You believe that she and Roger were really in love when she died, right?" Maureen nods emphatically. "And you believe that they would have told each other everything and helped each other through anything, right?" She nods more slowly, clearly not wanting to give into my reasoning. "So, it stands that, had she felt that she could possibly cope with this news in any way other than through death, she would have- at the very least- sought help from Roger, which would have, in a way, been ideal given that he was coming to terms with the very same situation she was. Therefore, it has nothing to do with your capabilities as a friend."

Maureen doesn't speak for a while. She just nods, thinking over everything I said. Finally, a small smile graces her lips. "Wow," she says quietly, "I'd hate to go up against you in court."


	9. Elbows

[Author's Note: Hi, kids! First of all, thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers- you guys make my day! Second, I apologize that I didn't get this posted by this morning as planned. This chapter hates me, so we had to fight it out for a while before I came up with something acceptable for public viewing. The last thing is this: just to clarify, the description says this is Musicalverse, which is true, but it also includes some things here or there that are derived from the movie. That hasn't applied a whole lot yet, but just so you know in the future. Anyhoozle, I promise the next chapter will be better, but this was just a filler to get some necessary junk in before the action really starts. Have a fan-freakin'-tastic day, my RENT peeps!]

Snow Day

Chapter Nine: Elbows

November 10th, 4:45 AM, EST

Maureen and I are still awake, curled up on the couch when my alarm clock begins to buzz obnoxiously. Maureen, who was clearly about to drift off again, whines, "Why is your alarm clock going off? It's the middle of the night!"

"It's 4:45," I say simply, while I slide out from under the blanket and shiver as cold air hits me.

"Yeah," she says, lying down and snuggling into the warmth of the spot on the couch that I just vacated, "that's the middle of the night."

"Actually," I inform her as I walk into the bedroom to turn the thing off, "it's the time I get up some days."

"_Why?" _Maureen demands from the other room.

"Trial day."

"But it's Saturday!" Maureen informs me incredulously.

"Welcome to corporate America: a magical land where people often have six-day work weeks."

I reappear from the bedroom in time to see Maureen put on a pout that's absolutely adorable. "But _still._"

"Yes, well, there you have it. Are you having coffee?" I ask as I make my way to the adjacent kitchen.

"Sure, thank you," she says, appearing beside me at the kitchen counter, still wrapped the blanket we were lying under. "Sorry I kept you up… I- I thought you'd get to sleep as late as you wanted and stuff…" I'm surprised by how quickly her face has fallen. Clearly, she's stuck in a mindset of thinking next to nothing of herself. I can feel anger starting to build in me as I think about the people who seem to have made her this way. Somehow, I don't think she was always this girl with such obvious issues with guilt.

"Maureen, don't worry about it. I'm fine. I could have gone back to sleep if I wanted to, and I didn't. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Okay," she mumbles, taking a blue coffee mug from my hand.

After a few minutes of silence, I ask, "So, any big plans for a Saturday morning?"

"Well, I was _thinking _I might go over to the loft and get the stuff that I apparently left there… But does that seem like a stupid thing to do?"

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "I guess it just depends on whether or not you're in the mood to see those guys again."

"Yeah…" she trails, while I pour coffee into each of our cups.

An hour later, Maureen and I are standing side by side at the bathroom counter. We're repeatedly smacking each other with our elbows as I try to apply mascara and Maureen tries to apply that fiery red lipstick.

"Okay, I have to run. I have to be in court at 6:30." Maureen pouts at herself in the mirror, and then, seemingly satisfied with her makeup job, closes the tube of lipstick and turns to me.

"Okay. I'll walk downstairs with you; I'm ready to go."

"Perfect." I grab my coat and briefcase and then hold the door for her. As we trudge down the stairs I hand Maureen my spare key. In any other case I would never consider giving a person who is essentially a stranger a key to my house, but I suppose it's as I told Maureen last night: I just have a good feeling about her. "Here," I say as I hand it to her, "you need to be able to get back here after your stop at the loft."

"Joanne, are you sure?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be? You're not going to throw some wild house party in my absence, are you?"

"Maybe," she smirks. By now we're standing at the bottom of the stairs, steps away from thrusting ourselves out into the full glory of a New York winter. Briefly, Maureen studies my face with that otherworldly expression she dons. Slowly, she inches toward me and leans up slightly, brushing her lips against my cheek and letting them linger for just an instant. "Thank you, Joanne. So much. For everything."

With that, we step out into the organized chaos of the city streets and turn in opposite directions.


	10. Criminal

[Author's Note: GUYS. IT'S FLUFFY. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I SUCCESSFULLY WROTE SOMETHING FLUFFY. **HAPPY DAY!**]

Snow Day

Chapter 10: Criminal

November 10th, 8:00 PM, EST

"I hope you're in the mood for pizza," Maureen says as I enter my apartment and dump my briefcase, purse, and other things in a chair.

"That sounds perfect- I'm starving!" Maureen bounds into the living room carrying and a delivery pizza box which looks to have been keeping warm in the oven, based on the way she's carrying it by the very edges with about three fingers. She drops the box on the coffee table and proceeds to open the lid, giving our dinner a regal presentation it probably doesn't deserve.

The pizza is swimming in grease, slightly burnt, and distinctly artificial. But we both dig in right away. "So," Maureen mumbles around a mouthful of sausage and pepperoni, "How was the court thingy? Did you get somebody the death penalty or something?" I give her a suspicious look. "I was just curious."

"Eh, he got five years- not what I was hoping for, but the charges weren't bad enough to begin with." Maureen nods.

"Hey, Joanne?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever been in jail?"

_"What kind of question is that?"_ I demand, choking on my pizza in the process.

"I don't know! It was just a… question."

"Well, no. I'm proud to say my legal record is squeaky-clean," I laugh. And then something hits me. "Wait… have you been arrested before?"

Maureen's eyes flash mischievously. "A couple times…"

"For what?"

"Something about… something. I don't know; it was Collins' fault. I think we were high. We probably stole something… I don't know. They kept us overnight, but then they let us go."

"If you were on the witness stand, you would have just lost the case right there." She sticks her tongue out at me. "Lost it _horribly._"

After a few minutes of silence, Maureen suddenly says, "We should play a game!"

"Do I really want to start playing games with a criminal?"

"Oh, shut up!" Maureen whines. She picks a piece of sausage off her pizza and throws it at me. I catch it in my mouth and smirk at her.

"Alright, what's the game?"

"Truth or dare! But without the dares: I get to ask you any five questions I want, and you have to answer them. _Truthfully._ Then you get to ask me!" she explains.

"I don't know…"

"Oh, come on, Joanne! We hardly even _know _each other, so I'll have to stick to the basics anyway! C'mon it'll be _fun!_"

"Fine, fine, fine. But nothing too deep and revealing," I try to warn her.

"Yay!" she squeals. "Okay, one: your first kiss."

"Her name was Chantal. She was the daughter of a French ambassador, and we were at boarding school together. I was fourteen." Maureen's mouth falls open at the mention of the number, but she quickly composes herself.

"Two: most recent kiss."

"Well…."

"NO! Do NOT tell me-"

"She and I were together for four years, and after the breakup I just didn't really find anybody in college. And then I started law school, and there just wasn't _time._ Trust me, during law school you don't have the time or energy to do anything but go to class, do homework, and go to bed-" I stop short when I realize that Maureen is giving me that look again. The one she's given me a few times now, where she just studies me: staring unblinking like she's looking straight into my mind and reading everything before it even has a chance to come out of my mouth.

Before I know what's happening, Maureen has leaned in close to me, searching my face for a reaction. I inch forward to meet her, and I watch as her eyes flutter closed before I let mine do the same. She closes the last inch remaining between us, and our mouths come together in a gentle, chaste, questioning kiss.


	11. Implied

Snow Day

Chapter Eleven: Implied

November 10th, 10:30 PM, EST

Maureen and I pull away from each other slowly. Her flushed face looks the way mine feels. She bites her lip, and her eyes flit back and forth between the floor and me. "I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have-"

"No," I say smiling, "You probably shouldn't have." Her face falls noticeably. "But I'm really glad you did." Her face- her entire being- lights up at those words.

"Me too."

After a bit, we find ourselves sprawled on the couch, Maureen hanging upside down with her feet on the back of the couch and her head and shoulders dangling off the edge of the seat. "So, what went down at the loft today?"

She flashes me a somewhat devious smile and then tumbles off the couch and eventually into a standing position, I suppose in preparation of some sort of reenactment. "Well. My _plan _was to sneak into the loft through the window to the fire escape, grab my stuff, and make a clean break without anybody knowing I ever came back." As she explains this, she makes full-body gestures, which I suppose signify each step of the plan, although they don't make a terrible lot of sense. I just nod.

"But, I just happened to climb up the steps of the fire escape and basically straight into Mark's lap." I cringe internally- probably outwardly as well, but if I do Maureen doesn't seem to notice. "And immediately he jumped at me with this whole rant about," she puts on a wistful expression, staring and gesturing into the distance, "'I just knew you'd come back! I'm so sorry for everything! Come back to me, Maureen! _I love you!_'" Despite the eye roll Maureen gives when she finishes this recitation, it's clear that she enjoyed hearing him profess his undying love for her. Or whatever it was that he did.

"So does this mean you're getting back with him?"

"_Joanne._ Would I have kissed you like that if I were getting back with him?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, I wouldn't have. I'm nothing if not a flirt. But I am _not_ a cheat."

"I never said that."

"But you thought it. Mark thinks it too- we used to fight about it once a week at least. He was just jealous. Everyone else seems to be able to see that I'm not cheating on anybody. I'm just being the one and only Maureen Johnson!" she finishes with a dramatic outward sweep of her arms. All I can think is that Maureen is one of those people who just appear to be followed by their own personal spotlight wherever they go.

"So then what did you say to his little speech?"

"That I didn't care. He screwed up, and I gave him second and third and _hundredth_ chances! He's already overused his limit, and I was never really able to love him to begin with- not like _that_." I nod. "I told him all of that. And then he asked why I was there, so I told him; and he asked where I was staying, so I told him. And then I got my stuff and left."

"Sounds pretty straight-forward. He didn't put up a fight?"

"Eh… not _really_." I give her a questioning look. "I mean he _wouldn't have_." Another look. "I think I kind of hurt his pride a little bit."

"How so?" My question is met with a surprisingly long and awkward pause. During this pause, Maureen comes back to the couch and sits facing me- to the extent that she can while keeping both feet on the floor.

"Well, it's just, there's sort of a slight chance that _maybe_- depending on how you look at it- I _might_ have implied, in a way, that it might not be inaccurate to assume that you _may_ potentially, to some extent, be my girlfriend." I can't help myself; I burst out laughing.

When I regain my composure, I ask, "So you're saying his pride is hurt because now to an outsider looking in it looks like you left him for a woman?"

"Well, yes, that, and he thinks I was cheating on him with you. He really hates me now- even more than before. And Roger heard the whole thing, and he'll take Mark's side no matter what, and I just hate this!"

"Aww… Come here," I say, pulling her closer to me. "You don't really care what those guys think about you do you?"

"I care that they'll tell everyone we know about how much of a slut I am! Mark always thought I was falling all over people that I was barely even flirting with. He couldn't deal with the fact that I just happen to be naturally charming," she smirks, "and now he'll start spreading around all kinds of stuff that he's just making up because he's jealous and angry."

"You don't really think he would do that, do you? I mean, I thought he loved you."

"Maybe he used to, but he sure doesn't now. Besides, I think people give Mark too much credit. He's not the sweet, innocent kid with the video camera that everyone seems to think he is."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are we or are we not actually a couple now?"

"I don't know," Maureen answers coyly, "do you want us to be?"

"I guess that depends on whether or not you want us to be."

"Well, _I _guess I wouldn't have kissed you like that if I didn't want us to be."

"And _I _guess I wouldn't have _let_ you kiss me like that if I didn't want us to be."

"See? What did I tell you?"

"What are you talking about?" I'm suddenly suspicious.

"It's just like I told you yesterday: people can't deny me," she grins, and then she leans in and places a quick, chaste kiss on my lips.

Can it really be that I've only known this woman since yesterday? It doesn't seem possible. But one thing is for sure: things seem to escalate very quickly when Maureen Johnson is involved.


	12. Maybe

[Author's Note: I apologize sincerely for the fact that I haven't updated in ages! I've been preparing for and then leaving on vacation. Or what was supposed to be a vacation. Honestly, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I'm almost positive I'm the only person in the world who will ever be able to say that they spent their Sweet 16 evacuating NYC due to Hurricane Sandy. I'll spare you the gory details, except to say that my dreams of meeting Idina Menzel at the Carnegie Hall stage door were crushed into a bazillion, jillion, quadrillion little pieces, and I kind of hate everything. But, nevertheless, I'm back. And I've got a new chapter for ya. It's short and less than fabulous, but I hope you'll be gracious given the circumstances.]

Snow Day

Chapter Twelve: Maybe

November 11th, 9:26 AM, EST

Waking up, I stretch and let out a quiet groan, instinctively reaching for the blankets that I must have kicked off during the night. Instead I grab Maureen's ankle. I open my eyes and realize that we fell asleep last night sprawled out on the couch. And now Maureen's right leg is bent, resting against the back of the couch, her right foot next to my left hip; and her left leg is extended, putting her left foot in the general vicinity of my face. When I sit up, Maureen practically falls off the couch, but I catch her ankle again and move her leg to the inside of the couch.

Finally, a Sunday: I'm more than grateful for the day off. Much as I love my job, it exhausts me more than I can really articulate. It's so nice to be able- for this one day a week- not to operate on anyone's schedule: to just do what I feel like, when I feel like. And at the moment, I feel like having really strong coffee.

After making the coffee, I return to the living room and sit down in the chair that is about two feet from the end of the couch where Maureen's head is. As I adjust my position in the chair, I can't help but think that- if you didn't know better- you would think Maureen was dead rather than asleep given the way she's splayed out, half her body hanging off the edge of the couch. She's snoring lightly, and I'm glad that she made it through the night seemingly without incident. Though it's hard to say what went on in her head that didn't translate into a wake-up call.

I find myself just watching her sleep while I sip my coffee: the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the occasional soft flutter of her eyelids, the tiny murmuring noises she makes. It's mind-blowing and a little bit terrifying that this woman who only two short days ago was a stranger is now my girlfriend.

It defies reason. It defies the vast majority of my beliefs about relationships. It defies everything but instinct. Then again, what is a lawyer without good instinct? Instinct or not, though, I can't believe myself. I've never been one to rush into anything. I'm willing to admit that I expect a lot both from myself and other people, and I like to know going into any kind of relationship whether or not a person is likely to meet those expectations. And if they aren't going to? Well, that's pretty much that. End of story.

So, why am I so content to go into this relationship on a wing and a prayer? Maybe she really has hypnotized me. Maybe it's just the fact that she seems so content with following her whims. Maybe I'm going insane.

Maybe it doesn't matter.


	13. Acceptance

[Author's Note: Hi, kids! I'm back with a longer chapter to make up for that last one. I just want to mention that Joanne seems kind of weird in this chapter, but it will all make sense in good time. And I also apologize for the fact that I accidentally keep delaying the action. I just feel like I have to kind of set some stuff up first.

Anyway, next order of business: I wasn't going to bother with asking, but I guess I'll just throw it out there and see what I get. Do you think it would be weird to (somewhere down the line, not necessarily right away) throw in a few chapters from Maureen's POV? I'm feeling really conflicted because I think it would help a lot with deepening the plot, but I'm afraid it might seem odd now that I've opened with 13 straight chapters in Joanne's POV. So, please help! Any opinion on the matter is appreciated!

All right, thanks for putting up with my talkativeness! I'm sorry to have wasted your life with my long author's note. Enjoy the chapter!]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirteen: Acceptance

November 24th, 9:30 PM, EST

Things have settled into a pretty steady rhythm over the last two weeks, I suppose. Although Maureen is virtually the antithesis of 'steady'. There are moments when I don't know how I can stand any of the craziness and spontaneity for another minute. But there are little bumps like that in any relationship, I suppose.

In a way, I can see the issue Mark took with… her flirtatiousness. When you look hard enough, it's obvious that Maureen doesn't mean anything by it. It's exactly as she's told me: it's just in her nature to flirt with people. But I can still see why he didn't have much faith in her lack of meaning: it's not so much the way Maureen acts, but the way people _reciprocate_. And, what's more, the way she thrives on their attention.

It's all so confusing. I mean, I barely know her. The fact that I'm even dating her is ridiculous, so why am I having such a hard time admitting that explicit monogamy is probably too much to ask at this point? It's funny how Maureen has so much more practical life experience than me, even though we're the same age. The learning curve is steep.

I glance across the room to see Maureen chatting animatedly with a tiny brunette woman in a plaid miniskirt, which raises another interesting point: why is it that I feel so strongly for someone who is so completely unlike me? I've never believed in all of that 'opposites attract' nonsense. Relationships are driven by _similarity_: in interests, in beliefs, in personality.

And the two of us couldn't be more different. She's a loud, bubbly, extroverted social butterfly; and I'm a quiet, shy, reserved introvert. She's spontaneous and dramatic; and I'm a planner and a realist. We simply shouldn't be drawn to each other, and yet, to me, she is magnetic.

And that is why I'm here, in a little place in the East Village called the Life Café, sitting alone in a corner booth while Maureen floats around the room talking to anyone and everyone in the restaurant as though she's known them for years. And maybe she has- a lot of these people seem at the very least to be acquainted with one another. Suddenly I realize that Maureen has reappeared at my side.

"Joey, come on, you can't just sit here by yourself all night!" she whines, trying to pull me up out of my seat.

"Why not? I'm not outgoing like you. I can't just go up to random people and start talking like you can."

"Then just come with me," she begs, "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

"Why? You seem perfectly content with everyone else, Maureen."

"Oh, Joanne, don't be like that. Everyone here is perfectly nice, but they aren't _you_. You're my _girlfriend_, remember?" As if I could forget. "I wanna show you off to people," she beams.

I hold back my own grin for as long as I can, but finally let it go. "Fine, fine, fine. You win," I say, watching Maureen bounce up and down a couple of times while letting out a little squeal of excitement. "As always."

The night certainly isn't a disaster. How Maureen has gotten to know all these people so well is beyond me, but she introduces me to nearly every person in the restaurant with a full background summary to go along with each person. As far as I can tell, they're all really nice, and none of them seem too freaked out by my shyness, which is a nice change of pace considering that I've been given a hard time about it since I was a kid.

After an hour or so of socializing, Maureen and I retreat to our corner booth again, both of us sliding in on the same side. We sit in silence for a minute before I notice that Maureen is giving me one of those looks again.

"Yes?" I ask somewhat meekly, meeting her gaze head on.

"I'm just trying to figure you out," she tells me.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, it's just… I don't get it. Why are you so scared of people?"

I look down at my hands and don't answer for a minute or so. "Well, I mean, it's not that I'm really scared of people…" She slips her hand into mine, and I look up and into her face.

"I think a little bit," she says gently. I'm a little bit surprised for some reason. It's jolting to see Maureen so swiftly change from her 'public personality' to her 'private personality', given that they're so completely different.

"I'm just shy; it's not that weird."

"I've known a lot of shy people, Joanne, and you're more hesitant with people than any of them."

"It doesn't matter; I don't want to talk about it." Maureen slides out of the booth and pulls me along with her.

"Not wanting to talk about it is different than it not mattering," she says while she holds the door open for me. "C'mon, Jo, there's no reason you can't tell me."

"There's nothing to tell," I say, looking away and chewing my lower lip. Maureen interlaces her arm with mine, and we walk in silence for a while.

"Joanne, you have to stop that. Look, you're bleeding," Maureen informs me while reaching up to brush away the small bead of blood that has formed on my lip. My tongue darts over the spot, and I wrinkle my nose at the metallic taste. "See? I knew something was bothering you." I just shrug. Looking around, I realize that I've been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't even realized that Maureen has led me not home, but to Washington Square Park. She guides me to a bench at the edge of the park and looks at me intently with that wide-eyed, soul-searching expression which admittedly intimidates me with its intensity. "Talk to me," she says. "There's something you want to get off your chest, and you know it. So just _do it_."

"I don't know, Maur," I tell her, still not making eye contact.

"Then tell me this: did you enjoy anything about this night?"

"Yeah," I answer faintly, "everyone seemed so nice… accepting."

"So you're afraid of not being accepted." It isn't a question, but a declaration. It probably isn't intentional, but to me the remark comes off as smug. I find myself spiraling into an ages-old thought pattern of trying to decipher all the ways in which she might use this knowledge against me.

"I said I wasn't talking about it," I tell her. I pull my hand out of hers roughly as I stand up to walk away. I'm suddenly furious: with her for forcing me out of my shell, with myself for buying into it, with her for bringing up something I try to never even allow myself to think about, with myself for falling for her stupid, little 'innocent small talk' scheme, with her for suddenly copping an attitude (or so it seems to me), with myself for the ridiculous and inexplicable tears beginning to sting the corners of my eyes.

"Joanne, Baby, wait!" Maureen calls as she darts after me, quickly reappearing at my side. She says nothing more, makes no move to touch me. She just walks beside me, and when we get back home sits gingerly next to me on the couch while I try to force down the tears that continue to threaten to spill over.


	14. Genius

[Author's Note: So sorry for my novel of an author's note last time! I'll just cut to the chase this time. Enjoy! Reviews are my Prozac! ;)]

Snow Day

Chapter Fourteen: Genius

November 24th, 11:45 PM, EST

"Joey?" Maureen whispers, slipping her hand into mine.

I just shake my head. "You'll laugh. I'd tell you- I _might_ tell you- if I thought you wouldn't, but you will."

"I won't."

"Yes, you will. It's stupid."

"If it's bothering you, then it's not stupid."

"Maybe it is, and I'm just being overly sensitive."

"Joanne." She pins me with another one of those stares.

"Fine," I mutter. She waits patiently for a minute or two until I begin. "So you won. You got me to admit it."

"Joanne, really? You really think this was about winning? What's there to win? All I want to know is why you don't want anything to do with people!"

"Well, you won because you beat every other person who's ever tried to get me to explain this to them."

"So, I've won an explanation."

"I suppose." She waits. "I've just always been the 'other', you know?"

She laces our fingers together. "How so?"

"Sexuality, obviously, but… a lot of other things, too…" I trail off and stare into space until I feel the backs of Maureen's fingers graze my jaw line, moving toward my chin, gently coaxing me into looking at her again. "I don't know how to explain this without making myself sound like a freak."

"That can't hurt anything. We wouldn't be together right now if it weren't for my being a freak- and then explaining it all to you. You're in good company, Baby."

For some reason I go along with it, even though I'll probably regret it in the end. "So, did you ever notice that I said we're the same age, but I also said that I graduated high school three years before you?" The look of blatant confusion on her face is priceless. "Yeah. I hated elementary and middle school because I was always the 'freaky genius girl', which is where the three years thing comes in: I skipped kindergarten, second, and fifth grades."

"_Dude! _That's _awesome!_"

"It is?"

"Yeah! Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. I guess it was just a 'kids being kids' thing, but I was always kind of an outcast. I mean, I've always been shy to begin with, and then I ended up with kids one or two or three years older than me, plus I had this 'nerdy smart kid' stigma attached to me. It was just a recipe for disaster."

"That's awful," Maureen says, pouting excessively. "I hate all of them." I can't help but laugh a little. "I'm serious! People can't just treat you like an outcast! I won't let them!"

"Mo, this was in the seventies. We're not talking about last week or something."

"Fine. Whatever," she concedes as she lies down with her head in my lap. She looks up at me expectantly. "You were saying…?"

"Well, yeah, that's how the boarding school thing came about. I was always lonely and miserable, and my parents finally decided to find someplace that would fit me better. So I ended up at Miss Porter's because the girls they accepted were given their grade or class levels based on ability instead of age. So it worked. And I was actually happy there; and I had Chantal..." I stop when I see the look on Maureen's face: disgust. "Oh, stop. We were _kids_. This was ages ago."

"Well, yeah, but the other night you sure made it sound like it took you a freaky-long time to get over her!"

"Yes, it did. But I _did_. She dumped me after three years, so of course it took a little time. I mean, come on, cut a girl a break here."

"French chick dumped you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The explanation I got was that she had a boyfriend waiting for her back in her homeland (for lack of a better word), and I was basically just there to entertain her while they were apart."

"I hate her."

I chuckle at Maureen's apparent protectiveness of me and run my fingers through her hair. "Yeah, these days, I'm not too fond of her either."


	15. Formal

[Author's Note: Okay, I admit, this one is just kind of here to tease you. I couldn't help myself. The next one will go more into detail with the rest of the night, but I think you'll enjoy this one too. :) Until next time…]

Snow Day

Chapter Fifteen: Formal

November 30th, 7:30 PM, EST

When I glance up yet again, the clock on my office wall finally reads seven thirty. More excited than necessary, I shove the case I've been working on into my briefcase and dash out the door. "Goodnight, Ms. Jefferson!" comes the cheery voice of Linda, the firm's secretary, who has been both an employee of my parents and close family friend for as long as I can remember. I still have to stifle a laugh every time she uses my professional title rather than my first name even though she's done that since I began working here.

"Goodnight, Linda!" It's a fairly half-hearted response, but my mind is already on other things- or, rather, other _people_- that couldn't be further from this office. The day after our escapade at the Life Café, Maureen and I came to the realization that, while we were now living together, we had never been on a real, formal date together. And since I had the upcoming Saturday off, we set the date for Friday: for today.

And now the problem becomes that, while she has had all day to prepare, I have about twenty minutes to go from my typical, everyday suit into something good enough for a date with my Maureen. Besides that, I have to alter my makeup and jewelry and make sure that my hair is still presentable after today's ten-hour window of opportunity for it to frizz out of control. In the bathroom adjacent to the main lobby of the building that houses our firm, I somehow manage to accomplish all of this in the allotted time period. Before I leave to catch a cab, I survey my appearance one last time.

I must admit I'm fairly impressed with the results. I've chosen a dark navy halter dress with a V-neck- a bit low, but still tasteful. The skirt of the dress is loose and flowing, and the hem lands just an inch or two above my knees. The bodice is fitted and feels quite a bit more revealing than the things I would usually wear, but I think it looks kind of nice. I only hope that Maureen will agree. The look is finished off with small, silver hoop earrings and black, patent leather stilettos.

Satisfied that my appearance is worthy of a first date (if it can still be called that) with Maureen Johnson, I slip on my heavy, wool coat and trudge outside to hail a cab. Once this is accomplished, it takes about fifteen minutes to arrive at the decently upscale restaurant/bar/club where we've chosen to meet.

When I open the door to the restaurant, Maureen, who I hope I haven't kept waiting too long, rises to meet me. "Oh, Joanne, you look gorgeous!" she breathes, placing her hands on my upper arms and then slowly sliding them down to my hands.

"Me? You're the gorgeous one," I respond, and I spend a moment taking in her appearance. Her hair is in perfect, loose curls instead of the usual small, wild ringlets. She's wearing a knee-length, fiery red dress that matches her lipstick. It has a deep V-neck and a skirt that floats and sways as she moves. It fits her to a T for an effect that is absolutely stunning. "Maureen, you're so beautiful."

Her face flushes, and I suddenly have to wonder whether or not compliments have had any place in her life over the past months that I've heard such horror stories about. "Thank you," she mumbles shyly. "Here, let me go hang up your coat and stuff."

"Thanks," I say sweetly, as she takes my coat and briefcase from me. She turns around and walks in the direction of the coatroom while I take a little more time to admire her flawless body.

Within a minute, Maureen reappears at my side and we walk through the entryway and approach the hostess. "Table for two?" she asks.

"Please," I respond.


	16. Superbia

[Author's Note: I know, I know, I promised this one would have the rest of their date. I suck. But it just had to end here… That aside, to address the pink elephant in the room (you'll know which part I mean once you read), do you think the blatant reference was too much? I found it pretty amusing, personally, but that's just me.

Also, if anyone can figure out the abstract reference to Idina Menzel in this chapter, you will get a major shout-out in the next chapter, as well as my deep respect (which I'm sure you're all just dying to have. :P).

And finally, it is Shameless Promotion Time: is anyone out there a fan of the musical _Chess_? I'm guessing the answer is 'no', given that the last time I met a fellow _Chess _fan was… oh, right, never. But if you are, I have good news! I'm about to start an epic _Chess_ novel that will be depressing and fabulous. (Worry not: this Mojo novel will always take priority over any of my other fanfiction undertakings, but I am excited to get something started for another one of my fandoms.) Anyway, if you're not familiar with the glory of _Chess_, get your butt on over to YouTube and search "Chess in Concert part 1". You'll have to watch it in parts, but at least you'll have watched it. You really won't regret this, guys: the story is fantastic, the music is beyond belief, and the cast is to die for! (Josh Groban, Idina Menzel, Adam Pascal… need I say more?)

Okay, sorry for another super-long author's note. Enjoy the chapter!]

Snow Day

Chapter Sixteen: _Superbia_

November 30th, 8:15 PM, EST

Louder music can be heard seeping through from the bar/club side of the restaurant, but save for that the room is exceptionally quiet. The tables are spaced so far apart that, not only can you not understand other people's conversations, you can barely distinguish any voices. After the waitress has taken our drink orders and left, Maureen reaches up and rests one arm on the table, her hand near the center. I know exactly what she's doing: trying to tempt me into taking her hand in mine, just so she can have the satisfaction of knowing that I want to. I decide to take her up on it.

She smirks when I do and asks, "So, how was work today?"

"Dull. Just writing cases. No client meetings or anything to break it up." Maureen makes a face.

"Ugh. That's no fun. You're lucky you had this to look forward to," she comments, punctuating the statement with an exaggerated 'air kiss' in my direction. She winks at me. I roll my eyes, but smile, and play with one of the several rings she wears.

"Well, if my life is so boring, what did you do all day?" I counter.

"I slept until nine-ish, went to my audition at eleven, got home at about one, and then got ready for our date."

"How did it take you _six hours _to get ready?! I had _twenty minutes_!"

"Joanne, Joanne, Joanne," Maureen scolds, pulling her hand out of mine, "I had to tame the beast." She fluffs her hair a few times more than necessary, I suppose for emphasis.

"You stole all of my hair stuff, didn't you?"

"I _borrowed _all of your hair stuff," she corrects, "and you know it was worth it." I feel myself blushing, and I'm immediately thankful that it's as dark as it is in here. It _was _worth it, though. Maureen, in her ever-present metaphoric spotlight, looks absolutely divine.

About a half-hour later, our food has arrived and the conversation has drifted to Maureen's audition this morning. "So what was this one for again?" I ask her. She's done so many auditions in the last few weeks that I can't hope to keep them all straight. She explained to me that she can't always keep them straight either, but she does so many auditions this time of year because the winter is not an ideal time to be planning and performing protests in a building without a functional heating system. 'The temperature discourages attendance', as Maureen puts it.

"This one was for something called _Superbia_. I haven't really seen the material, but it's partly based on this book called _Nineteen Eighty-Four_."

"What's that about?" I ask before taking another bite of my food.

"Well, it's not like I read it!" I roll my eyes again. "But from the summaries I've seen it sounds pretty cool. There's, like, all this war and mind control and stuff!"

"Wow."

"I know, right? And the composer of it was at the auditions, and he seems really cool."

"That's good. Did he like you?"

"I think so, but then again it didn't seem like there was anybody he didn't like. He was just nice to everybody. And he really knows music! I mean, everybody: from Sondheim all the way to the Beatles!"

I nod my approval. "So, what's this guy's name?"

"Jonathan Larson."


	17. Chaste

[Author's Note: I know, I'm a terrible person. I haven't updated in almost a week. My daily life, writer's block, and general lack of ambition have been keeping me from my authorly duties… I don't know, this chapter just didn't _want _to be written. The idea, I think, is pretty good, but it just wasn't coming together. So it's ridiculously short. But it's a chapter. And it's good enough to be acceptable for public viewing. So, here it is. More to come tomorrow, my pretties.]

Snow Day

Chapter Seventeen: Chaste

November 30th, 10:00 PM, EST

It becomes abundantly clear within seconds that Maureen's abilities on the dance floor greatly exceed mine. As soon as we enter the room, she tries to drag me to the center of the floor with her. But, being me, I refuse. She lingers with me at the edge for a while, but soon enough I convince her to go claim her spotlight from the woman who is currently reveling in it. I stand off to the side and simply admire her.

I really can't believe that she's mine. She's so stunning, so exciting, so… _flawless_ that it just doesn't seem possible. I keep getting tempted to wonder what I've ever done to deserve someone like her. But then I see her in some situation- maybe this, maybe at the café last weekend, maybe anything- and I realize that I've done absolutely nothing to make me worthy of her. She loves me without my needing to be good enough, and I don't understand it. But that's not to say I want to change it.

The first slow song of the night starts playing, and Maureen only somewhat gently shoves a few people out of her way and is back at my side in an instant. She pretends for a bit to look at anything but me, and when she finally makes eye contact the look on her face is so shockingly shy and hopeful that I can't help but smile. "Will you dance with me?" she asks quietly, offering me a broad smile and an extended hand.

"I'd love nothing more," I reply softly. I'm surprised by the look of relief that appears on her features. We both step nearer, turning to face each other fully.

"Um… Joanne?… Um… Who- who's supposed to lead?" she asks, blushing.

I pretend to consider it for a beat before answering, "I am." I rest my hands on her waist gently. I feel her just barely arch her back against me as she traces her hands up my arms and brings them to rest on my shoulders. Maureen meets my eyes, and we zone in on each other lovingly and admiringly as we gently sway in time with the music.

After a minute or so, Maureen very gently closes the last few inches between us, and I feel the intense heat of her body flush against mine. I inadvertently let slip a tiny moan that I only hope goes unheard. Regardless of whether or not she heard me, Maureen lets her hands slide down a bit from my shoulders, her fingertips resting lightly on my collarbone. Next, tantalizingly slowly, she drags them back up to caress the nape of my neck.

My hands slide from her sides to her back, and then slowly travel down until my palms are pressed fully against the base of it, drawing her still closer to me. We simultaneously lean in and meet each other with equally chaste, sweet kisses. Neither of us deepens the kiss. Neither of us pulls away for a long, long time. We simply linger in the middle of the dance floor, captivated by each other, as the crowd and the noise build back up around us.


	18. Shiver

[Author's Note: First of all, a message from my cat, which has been cut and pasted from the middle of this document: 1m,,,,,qbf8\dddd777777777777777777777777 7777777777777777777777777777 7777777777777777777777777777 7777777777777777777777777777 7777777777777777777777777777 7777777777777777777tttttttt**********************************************…l…..mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm kzjjjjjjjjjjjjji

Second: I'm sorry that I didn't post yesterday as promised, but I was just feeling really uninspired, and I didn't want to put in some garbage filler chapter because I think Mojo deserve better than that. Anyway, I'm back. And I know this one is short-ish, but I wanted to cut it here and pick up from there on the next chapter, so I'm literally going to write the next one as soon as this goes up. (I was feeling kind of 'meh' but like I had to get a chapter up, and then I started writing and all the inspiration hit me at once. So give me, like, an hour, and I'll get you another two or three. :) Enjoy, my lovelies!]

Snow Day

Chapter Eighteen: Shiver

December 2, 8:00 PM, EST

"Don't you just love the holidays?" Maureen asks, paging through one of the many catalogues that has poured in today. She's been humming Christmas songs for most of the past forty-five minutes while we lie on the couch reading, chatting, and now looking through the mountain of retail propaganda that is today's mail.

"Yeah, but I wish all these stores didn't love them so much," I complain. Then, after a minute, I mention, "You know, we really haven't talked about what we're going to do for Christmas."

"Do you have family stuff to go to or anything?" she asks without looking up.

"Well, my parents are my bosses, so we aren't really going to go out of our way to see each other. They've got something worked up with a few friends, actually, so I'm guaranteed to be all yours." This comment wins me a little smirk. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know I'm not that close with my family anymore… And I obviously won't be doing anything with the boys this year…" Maureen suddenly gets very quiet. She sighs and just stares at her hands for a bit.

"You miss them, don't you?"

She tosses the catalogue on the floor and scoots over next to me. "No."

"Don't lie to me, Mo." We both stay silent for a long time, listening to the wind howl against the building. I feel Maureen start to shiver and wrap my arms around her waist. She lowers her head to my shoulder and presses a warm kiss into my collarbone.

"I was just thinking… I mean, yeah, I miss them and stuff, but I was just thinking that this…" she sighs again and fidgets with one of the rings on her fingers, "this is going to be our first Christmas without April." The pitch of her voice climbs higher and higher with every word. "And we won't even be together." By the time she says this, she's managed to regain control of her pitch, but you can still hear the tightness of her throat.

For a minute or two, I stay quiet, trying to figure out what Maureen might want to hear. Finally I give her the most logical answer I can come up with. "You wouldn't have to be apart. Just go talk to them, Maureen. Don't you think they're starting to feel the same way? I mean, from what you told me, Mark certainly is."

"That's the problem, Joanne. I don't. I think they're glad I'm out of their hair. And I think Mark likes the idea of me, but he doesn't really like _me. _And as much as I love being here with you, I miss them!" She quickly lets go when she realizes that she's been gripping a fistful of my shirt.

"Maureen, I thought you said you guys were like a family. Family doesn't just turn their backs on each other."

"Tell that to my parents."


	19. Phone Book

[Author's Note: As promised, here ya go! This one's beyond short, but it's fluffy and pleasant, so I decided not to add anything. More is on the way, dears!]

Snow Day

Chapter Nineteen: Phone Book

December 2, 8:24 PM, EST

After another few minutes of silence we go back to shuffling through the mail. "Here's one for you," I say handing Maureen a letter from the bottom of the stack.

Her face scrunches up in confusion. "How? Nobody knows I live here except us."

"And Mark," I remind her. "It was forwarded here from somewhere in Alphabet City, so…"

"But how did he get the address?"

"Did you tell him my last name?"

"Oh, right, phone book." I roll my eyes. Part of me wants to ask how on earth she managed to let that slip without even remembering it, but I don't bother.

"So? Who's it from?"

She looks down at the envelope and studies the return address (which I noticed earlier didn't have a name with it) briefly with a series of amusing facial expressions. Suddenly, something seems to dawn on her. "_OHMYGOSH! IT'S FROM COLLINS!_" she shrieks while jumping off the couch and dancing around the room with the letter.

I can't help but grin from ear to ear watching Maureen's excitement. "Well, sit down and read it! What'd he say?!"

Maureen stops mid-twirl and tears the envelope open mercilessly, not stopping to think that she might want to be careful not to rip the return address. "_HE'S COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS!_" She jumps over the small coffee table and waves the letter in my face until I take it from her so I can read it while she continues to vibrate with excitement. The letter reads:

_Hey Mo,_

_Guess who's coming home for the holidays? MIT is "letting me go due to differences in opinions that directly influence the professional reputation of the school". Keep your brothers in line for me, and tell them I said that if they haven't been taking good care of you, I'm going to kick their butts when I get home. See you soon, Mo. Don't go and get yourself arrested without me._

_Love,_

_Collins_

Reading Collins' letter, I suddenly get it. This guy isn't just Maureen's best friend: he's become something of a father figure to her. No wonder she worries about him so much. "This is awesome, Honeybear! I can't wait to meet him," I say as Maureen sits back down, takes the letter from me, and actually reads more than the first sentence this time. I watch as she soaks up these few sentences and simply beams. Like a little girl who knows her parents are proud of her.


	20. Update

[Author's Note: I cannot begin to express how guilty I feel for just abandoning this story for almost two weeks! I'm so sorry! School and just life in general have been kicking my butt lately, and I just haven't been able to get any writing done. So, once again, I apologize, and I thank you for your support of this story. To make up for my absence, I tried to write you guys a really good one. Let me know whether or not I succeeded! Anyway, have a happy Thanksgiving, and I hope you enjoy!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty: Update

December 2, 9:00 PM, EST

"You can get in the shower now if you feel like it," I call as I walk to the bedroom to find some pajamas. Water drips from the ends of my hair onto my back and shoulders, and I shiver.

"Okay!" Maureen yells back somewhat louder than necessary.

After getting dressed, I meander out to the kitchen, and after another minute or two I hear the shower start. I'm about to go into the living room and turn on the TV, but suddenly a piece of paper on the table catches my eye. I sit down and pick it up, noticing that it is covered in scribbles, erasures, and various doodles. I read:

_Dear Collins,_

_ HI! :D I miss you! :'( I'm glad you're coming home soon because I hate having you gone. Nothing is the same. So if you know what's good for you, you'll come see me before you go see the boys…_

_ Yes, I moved out of the loft. It'll make sense once you get here. Just come to the address on the envelope, okay? I want you to meet someone! :D I want to tell you about this mystery person now, but that would be weird and ruin it, so you'll see when you get here._

_ Oh, by the way, here's the latest update: Roger doesn't need any butt-kicking. He's finally over the withdrawals, and he seems a lot better lately. Or at least that's what I thought before I left. Mark might possibly deserve to get his butt kicked (depending on who you ask), but please don't do it! It really wasn't his fault. It's all my fault. He just responded accordingly._

_ And, as promised, here's the other required update: no, I haven't gone through with cutting myself at any point in the last week; yes, I have strongly considered it; yes, I have been eating more than the bare minimum to sustain life for all of the last week; yes, I wanted to starve myself but forced myself not to; no, I am not lying about any of this. Oh! And I get to say yes to this one for the first time: I've actually been trying to talk to people about stuff instead of taking it out on myself (that's where the person I want you to meet comes in). I'm doing better. I promise. :)_

_ Also, I haven't gotten arrested so far, but I guess I might pretty soon. You're never going to believe this! Remember when I told you that Benny and Mr. Rich Father In-Law bought our building, and so Benny wasn't making us pay rent? He changed his mind, Collins! At the end of September, people started calling us asking for the rent for the whole year! Obviously, we can't pay it, so instead I'm holding another performance protest! It's set for Christmas Eve, and I'm so glad you'll get to see it now because Mark's filming wouldn't do it justice. Assuming he would still show up to film and everything for me… I'll explain when you get here. Anyway, I think there's going to be a cowbell in it, but that's all I can tell you. It's going to be great!_

_ I love you, and I miss you, and I CAN'T WAIT to see you!_

_Love,_

_Mo :)_

I set down the letter, and for a minute I just stare at it. It's so incredibly sweet and sad that I don't really know what to think. It scares me that Maureen is in bad enough shape that Collins expects her to give him all of those 'updates'. It scares me that she's apparently lied to him about it and been caught. I guess it scares me because, if she can lie to him, she could certainly lie to me. And I couldn't deal with that. The idea that she might be hurting herself behind my back is terrifying.

The other thing that sticks out to me most is the way Maureen talked about Roger and Mark. It kills me that she can turn everything that's happened to her back around on herself. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the shower turn off. I quickly move to the living room, leaving the letter exactly where I found it.

A few minutes later, Maureen joins me on the couch. She presses a quick, gentle kiss onto my lips and then lies down with her head in my lap. In almost no time at all the moisture from her thick hair soaks through my pajama bottoms. Maureen is less than concerned. She wraps her arms around my leg at the knee and falls asleep shortly after.


	21. Colors

[Author's Note: Again, I must apologize for the lag. This was a pretty hard chapter to write, and I think you'll see why. Either way, I think it turned out well. But I'll let you all be the judges of that!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-One: Colors

December 6, 6:45 AM, EST

From the bedroom, I hear the hairdryer turn on, and I stride back into the bathroom. "No. No way. You can dry your hair somewhere else; there is _not_ room in here." Maureen sticks her tongue out at me and unplugs the hairdryer. Once she's gone, I busy myself with doing my makeup.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, Maureen reappears and begins her highly specific daily application of red lipstick. "Hey, Mo," I ask out of pure curiosity, "is there a reason you always wear red lipstick?"

She doesn't answer for a surprisingly long time. She sits down on the edge of the bathtub, keeping her eyes focused on the little, silver lipstick tube in her hand. "I, um… April."

I sit next to her and try to place my hand on her back, but she leans away from it and moves farther from me. "Maureen, I- I didn't mean to- You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." She chews her lower lip for a minute and then wrinkles her nose a little, I suppose at the taste of lipstick now in her mouth.

"Really, it started when she was helping me get ready for my first date with Mark." Maureen smiles faintly. "She tried about a thousand colors on me, and finally she tried this one, and she said it was perfect." Her smile grows a little, in spite of the tears welling up in her eyes. I want to comfort her, but I keep my distance because I don't want her to stop now. "It wasn't until after she died that I started wearing it every day, though… Part of it was, I guess, solidarity, or whatever you want to call it. But I'd be lying if I said that was the main reason…"

There is a long silence, and, finally, I risk being the one to break it. "What is the main reason, Maureen?"

"She's the only person who's ever made me feel pretty… maybe even beautiful. My parents… let's just say they weren't the best role models. And we never got along anyway. I think that's why I always got closer with people older than me: I didn't really realize it, but I was always trying to find someone to look up to… April and Collins were the ones who always understood that. April treated me like a little sister: she took care of me." Maureen now has tears running down her face, and I just can't help myself. I slide over toward her and wrap an arm around her. This time she leans into me instead of moving away.

"She was like my sister, Joanne," she chokes out, burying her face in my shoulder. After a few deep breaths, she sits up and begins again: "I guess the main reason I wear it is because sometimes it helps me feel okay about how I look because I know April would like it." She looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and tears slowly leak from their corners.

"You can't see it at all can you?" I ask her.

"See what?"

"How absolutely beautiful you are," I answer, lifting up my free hand to brush away a tear and cup her cheek.

Maureen catches me completely off guard. In less than a second she is storming out of the bathroom. "Just shut up, Joanne! It's not worth lying to me, so just save it for someone naïve enough to believe you!" She punctuates this statement with a slam of the bedroom door. I hear the turning of the lock, followed by nothing but muffled crying.

Figuring I'll give Maureen a few minutes to herself, I walk to the kitchen and pick up the phone. In a moment of pure impulsiveness, I call in sick to work.

After another minute or two, I walk over to the bedroom door. I notice immediately that Maureen's crying sounds different somehow: maybe not louder, but more… pained.

Suddenly, Maureen's letter to Collins flashes through my mind. And all I know is that, somehow, I have to get through that door.


	22. Door

[Author's Note: What's this? A new chapter on a Monday? Man, you guys are lucky I love you. I thought about making you wait for a couple more days for this chapter, but I figured a) the cliffhanger in the last one was a little mean and b) I don't feel like doing homework at all right now. So, enjoy!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Two: Door

December 6, 7:13 AM, EST

_Stay calm. Stay calm. If you panic, she'll panic, and that's only going to make things worse. Whatever you do, just don't panic._ Doing my best to keep my voice normal, I knock on the door and say, "Maureen, Honey? Can I come in?"

"No!" Maureen cries from the other side of the door.

"Honeybear, you don't have to talk to me about any of this if you don't want to. I just want to be able to see that you're okay."

"I'm fine! Just go away!" she shrieks.

Suddenly, I remember. The key to the apartment also unlocks all the doors inside the apartment. The owner of the building told me that right after I signed the three-year lease on this place and received the key, but I had forgotten until now. Then again, it had never mattered until now.

I sprint back to the kitchen, grab my key off the counter, and race back to the bedroom door. I get it open in record time, and when I do I'm taken aback by what I see.

…

I had known that she cut herself. I had thought I understood what that meant.

I didn't.

Maureen is sitting on the floor, and her back would be leaned up against the wall, but her body is hunched forward, curling in on herself, and she's rocking a few inches back and forth. The smell of blood is strong to the point of being almost nauseating. And that's not surprising: blood is everywhere.

There are drops of it surrounding her, soaking into the carpet. It is running down her legs and arms, trickling down her hips toward the floor. Her thick, dark curls are matted with it. The tips of her fingers are caked with it. I can't help but wonder briefly if that has something to do with the reason she seems to always keep her nails painted. Funny, the things that go through our minds in situations like this.

The look in Maureen's eyes tells me that she is nowhere near the present time and place. It makes me afraid of what will happen when she snaps back to reality. Hesitantly, I walk over and kneel at Maureen's side. She turns wild eyes on me, and I suddenly register the sound of her breathing: she's wheezing so badly that she can't possibly be getting enough oxygen to keep her conscious for much longer.

"Maureen? Maureen, do you hear me?" I receive a somewhat unconvincing nod. "Maureen, you're going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you, Honey." With my right hand, I pry out of Maureen's grasp the knife that she's holding. With my left, I rub her back gently. As soon as I touch her I can feel her entire body trembling. Every muscle is rigid.

Once the blade is out of the picture, I gently move Maureen until she's lying on the ground in hopes that this will at least keep her from blacking out. "Shh… Everything's going to be all right, Mo. Just take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?" She tries- I can tell how hard she's trying, but it isn't accomplishing much. She's going to have to relax at least a little before there are going to be any positive results. I lower myself to lie next to her, propped up on one elbow. I slow my breathing down and inch closer until I'm pressed against Maureen's side. My hope is that instinct will take over and Maureen will match her breathing to mine.

It takes probably ten minutes, but Maureen does settle down. Tears are streaming down her face, and I lean down to kiss her forehead softly. "I didn't mean to," she whimpers. "I hadn't cut myself even once since the day we met."

I pick Maureen up off the floor and lay her on the bed. While I do, I say, "This isn't your fault, Honeybear: you've never had a chance to really work through what happened to her, and this is just how you're trying to do that."

"It is my fault."

"Is that something Mark told you?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I kneel next to the bed, and Maureen turns her head to the side to look at me.

"You can't listen him, Baby Girl. You really can't. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Collins is going to think I lied to him. And don't make me explain- I know you read the letter."

"I-" She just gives me a look. "I'm sorry." I whisper.

"It's fine. It's nothing you shouldn't have seen or anything."

"He won't think that, you know. And if he does, then I'll tell him he's wrong."

"I promised him before he left that I'd stop. He promised not to get sick, and I promised that, and I can't do it! I can't do this! I don't know why I need to do all this stuff, but I can't stop!" Maureen cries.

"Honey, Honey," I soothe, stroking her hair, "it's going to be okay. You're not going to stop all at once, and you can't ask that of yourself, okay? Just be patient with yourself."

"Why should I be, Joanne? You just don't get it. This didn't just start because of April. I've been doing this stuff since I was thirteen!" For a minute I just look at her.

"Thirteen?"

"Yes. And April used to try to get me to stop, too. But you know what she did? First, she got hooked on drugs, which is just like the stuff I do: something you don't want to do but you can't stop. And then she killed herself by doing exactly the thing she told me not to do! She slit her wrists, Joanne! She did the exact thing she made me swear over and over again that I would never do!" Maureen disintegrates into tears, and I walk around to the other side of the bed, crawl in, and inch over next to her. Maureen twists to wrap her arms around my shoulders, and I feel the slickness of blood as her lower arms come to rest at the nape of my neck.


	23. Promise

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Three: Promise

December 6, 7:36 AM, EST

After a minute or two of silent tears, Maureen asks, "Do you think it's true when Roger and Mark say it's wrong for me to be mad at her for that?"

"Oh my gosh," I sigh, "they honestly told you that?"

"Yes. And, I mean, it kind of makes sense. What right do I have to be mad at a person who was troubled enough to kill herself, you know?"

"Maureen, you have every right. Not to disrespect April at all, but it sounds like she was quite a bit of a hypocrite toward you. Now, I completely agree that this needs to stop, and I'm sure when she was telling you that, she never expected she would come down to doing the same thing; but you still have every right to be upset about it. When you get right down to it, she betrayed you. You have the right to feel angry over that."

"I think I always would have thought that if they hadn't told me otherwise. After all, it doesn't mean I love her any less," Maureen mumbles against the side of my neck.

"Exactly," I murmur, kissing Maureen's hairline.

After another short pause, Maureen disentangles herself from me and asks, "Can I show you something?"

"Of course," I say. She gets up and crosses the room to the dresser that we share. When she does, I realize that she's still bleeding quite a bit.

"Honeybear, maybe we should take care of your arms and legs first?" I suggest gently.

Maureen's cheeks flush. "Oh, right, yeah, okay." She sits on the edge of the bed while I retrieve whatever bandages I can find in the bathroom and make quick work of bandaging everything up. Thankfully, none of the cuts are very deep. For the most part, Maureen doesn't complain, but I doubt she'll ever let me near her with isopropyl alcohol again.

She again walks over to the dresser and opens one of her drawers to retrieve a slightly crumpled, slightly bloodstained piece of notebook paper. "This is the note April left me on the night she died," Maureen says softly as she sits back down next to me on the bed. I have to wonder now which girl's blood is on the page, or if it's some combination of that of both. I feel almost guilty for thinking it, though I'm not exactly sure why. When she holds it out to me, I'm sure the look on my face must be one of complete shock. "You should read it," she tells me. "It would help you understand her better… and maybe even me, too."

"If- if you're sure…" I hesitate. When she nods, I take the piece of paper and read:

_My Dear Maureen,_

_ I'm afraid I may be hurting you more than anyone tonight- maybe even more than Roger, I think. But you should know that I have never wanted to hurt you- not with this or with anything else. I'm so sorry that I had to do this, but I just can't see any other way. I'm so, so sorry, Mo. I hope you can forgive me._

_ I want you to know that you're the best friend I've ever had. There is so much that I don't know how I ever could have gotten through if I didn't have you to help me. You're my baby sister, and you always will be. I should also apologize that I won't be there to congratulate you when you make your Broadway debut. Just know that I'll be watching from heaven and applauding louder than anyone. I want you to know that- however you feel about yourself- I've been jealous of your looks from the moment we met. You're so, so beautiful, Maureen. Never forget that. There isn't a single thing about you that you need to change to be beautiful._

_ This is probably too much to ask, but will you promise me something, Maureen? Promise me that you'll keep on being the strong woman I know you to be. Promise me that you won't lose that fire that I've always loved in you- no matter what Benny, Mark, or anybody else thinks about it. Finally, I have to ask you to do as I say and not as I do: promise me that you won't resort to cutting, or eating disorders, or hiding yourself away from the world like I know you'll want to after this and probably a lot of times in the future. Honey, I know I'm a terrible example. I know I'm doing the very thing I've made you swear not to. I know all of it. But there's one huge difference between us, Maureen: I'm weak. I'm extremely weak. How many times have I said that I wished I understood what went through your head to make you want to hurt yourself? Well, I got my wish, and I can't handle it._

_ But you're not like that, Mo. You're a fighter. You always have been, and it's one of the things I love most about you. Don't give up just because I did. Please be brave, Maureen. Be as strong as I know you can be. You don't have any kind of death sentence or expiration date hanging over you, unless you create one for yourself. So don't do it, honey. You're going to turn this city, and this whole world on its head the moment you get half a chance. I've always known that. So don't sell yourself short. Please promise me that._

_ I think I've almost covered all the things I feel I need to say to you most. But I do want to say that I hope you'll never forget and never quit believing the one thing that I've said to you more than any other over the years: no person can ever be perfect, so to hurt yourself trying will never be worth it. You are unique, and talented, and beautiful inside and out. And that's already about as close to perfection as anyone could be._

_ Finally, I don't care what happens to most of my stuff, but there is one thing that I absolutely want you to have. I want you to have my silver and purple ring. I'm sure you know which one I mean. I hope that when you wear it, it will remind you that I've always got your back- even if I can't be there in person._

_ I love you so much, Maureen, and I'm sorry to leave and hurt you like this. Please believe me when I say that. I'm so, so sorry. Stay strong, Honey._

_Love,_

_April_


	24. Falter

[Author's Note: It's been a while, and I'm sorry. As the end of the semester gets closer, you're going to have to lower your expectations a little in terms of frequency of updates, but I'm hoping to get a huge amount done over the holidays. This chapter was not an easy one to write, but I'm really proud of the end result. I'd really, really like to know how you feel about it! Dearest readers, I look at my traffic stats, and I know you guys are out there! So please don't be shy, okay? I don't care if you love it, hate it, think I'm a psychopath- it doesn't matter! I just want to know that I've written this well enough to cause someone to feel _something_ in connection to it. So, I hope you enjoy, and I hope you'll tell me what you thought. Much love to all my readers!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Four: Falter

December 6, 8:00 AM, EST

By the time I finish reading April's note, I have tears streaming down my cheeks. Maureen, who was reading over my shoulder, is crying again, as well. "I just though you should know," she chokes out.

"Thank you," I whisper. Maureen nods and takes the page back from me. She just looks at it for a while, and then brushes her index finger over one of the blood spots.

"I think she was cutting for a little while before she decided to… you know." I nod silently and watch waves of every emotion I can name- and a few that I can't- pass over Maureen's face. Her hands begin shaking violently, and she immediately stands up, dashes across the room, and shoves the page into a drawer and out of sight. I notice that, in her hurry, she puts it in one of my drawers instead of hers, but I don't say anything. I'll put it back in its place tonight; Maureen clearly doesn't want to do anything further with it right now.

As I'm thinking this, Maureen hesitates, then turns and bolts from the room. "Maureen, Honey!" I call after her while getting to my feet as quickly as I can. A few seconds later, I find her curled into a fetal position on the couch. From the sound of it she isn't crying, but she's shaking badly. Her entire body jolts when I place a hand on her back.

"I broke my promise to her again!" Maureen screams. I slide my arms under her, pick her up, and turn around to sit on the couch with her on my lap. _"What is this? The fiftieth time at least?" _She kicks her feet and pulls at my hands, trying to get away from me. But I'm not about to let that happen. She can't go and lock herself in the bedroom again because this time my key would be locked in with her, and I haven't the slightest idea where Maureen's is.

"Maureen, stop," I tell her as authoritatively as I can manage. It appears to be close enough for Maureen because she quickly stops moving. "Look at me," I continue, and she obliges. "What did I tell you before? This isn't going to end all at once, right? April would understand that, Maureen. She was patient with you for years; if anyone would, she'd understand that you can't just decide to be done and that's that. She didn't ask that you make a complete 180 by tomorrow; all she asked is that you don't rely on this stuff to cope… Alright?"

Maureen slides off my lap and sits next to me with her arms crossed over her chest. "Why does this stuff all make so much sense when you say it?"

"I don't know, Honeybear." She leans her head on my shoulder, and for a long time we just sit together without saying anything. Maureen rubs at a streak of dried blood on her right arm.

"You know, it's really ironic that this all came up today."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, it's just… I was going to go visit her while you were at work."

"You mean-"

"Yeah, yeah, visit… visit the cemetery," she confirms, her voice gradually quieting as she speaks. "I'm guessing that now you're playing hooky today, so, I mean, you can come if you want to."

"You… You're okay with having me there?"

"Of course," she whispers, "of course I am."

An hour later, Maureen and I are entering the gates of a small cemetery at the edge of the city. Maureen takes my hand in hers and squeezes gently. "It's this way," she whispers, and pulls me gently to the left. A dozen or so yards away, I can see a small, simple gravestone that sits in a forgotten corner of the cemetery, at least thirty feet from any of the other graves. It's horribly sad-looking: like April's grave has been banished to this spot that no one else wanted. When we get about ten feet from it I stop, and Maureen, still holding my hand, is jerked back slightly. "I'll, um… I'll just stay right here," I tell her softly.

"Okay," she says, "I'll try not to take too long."

"Take your time," I say with a shake of my head, "please." Maureen nods twice and turns to walk the last few feet up to the headstone. She carefully and ceremoniously sets down the small bouquet of flowers she's been carrying, and then she simply stands there. This lasts for quite a while, but suddenly I hear her begin to speak.

"Hi, April. I'm sorry I haven't been here in so long." She swallows thickly. "I, um… Well, I'm sure you noticed this, but… I brought someone with me today that I want you to meet." She glances back at me fearfully. I suppose she's afraid of what I'll think of the way she conducts these visits to April's grave, but all I can think is how heartbreaking this all is. "This… This is Joanne," Maureen continues in a trembling voice. I'm unsure of whether or not I should say or do anything, so I don't move. I simply continue to watch and listen.

"I guess I should apologize that all your work of getting Mark and me together finally went to waste, but, um… Joanne is my girlfriend now. I- I told her a lot about you today, and she understands all the stuff that happened- to both of us- a lot better than the boys ever did. You'd like her a lot, April, and that's good because if you're still watching me from heaven you'll be seeing her a lot now. I just thought you two should meet…" I can hear her throat tightening. "…you know, in whatever way you can… because… because I love her. I love her a lot, April. So, I just thought you guys needed to know each other."

Maureen stops for a few minutes and cries quietly. Part of me wants to go to her and hold her, but something keeps me in my spot off to the side. It seems she'd do better to be alone right now. "She understands what happened to you, April," Maureen cries. "I never thought anybody could ever understand, but she does. She wasn't even there, and she understands it more than everybody else who was."

There is another long pause before Maureen hoarsely continues, "I broke our promise again, April. I'm so sorry." Maureen sits down in the frost-coated grass. "Joanne said you wouldn't be mad at me because you couldn't ask me to stop cutting all at once, and I think maybe she's right." Maureen rubs at her eyes. "I don't feel like you're mad at me like I usually would… I hope that's not bad… But, anyway, I just thought I should still apologize for it.

"Um, I don't think Roger's left the house yet, so I think I'll tell you this for him: he wants to come see you, but he's still too sad. He's scared of how he'll feel if he comes to see you, but he'll come eventually. I was scared at first, too, remember? I think he's going to come soon, but I'll tell you this just in case it's longer than I think: he's gotten over all the withdrawal. Oh, I was going to tell you this too: don't be mad at him for the stuff he did to Mark and me. He didn't mean to- it was just because of the drugs… He misses you a lot, April. This did end up being harder for him than me.

"I guess the last thing I wanted to tell you was that I'm doing another performance protest. It's going to be on Christmas Eve, and I hope you'll watch it. I'm going to make fun of Benny in it, so it'll be really funny…" Maureen sighs heavily. "Okay, I guess I should go now, April. Have a good day, okay?" she asks as she stands up. "I'll come back soon, I promise… And… I'll, um… I'll try to do better at keeping my other promises… I miss you so much, April. I love you, Honey… Goodbye…"

Maureen turns around very slowly and refuses to look at me. "Let's go," she whispers hoarsely as she slowly brushes past me. I start to walk after her, but I stop short. Without saying anything, I turn around and walk all the way up to April's headstone. Once there, I glance back to see that Maureen noticed my absence and is now standing in the spot I held previously, a curious and pained expression gracing her features.

I turn back around to face the headstone and take a deep breath. "Hi, April. I guess Maureen already made the introductions, but I'm Joanne… I, uh… I just…" I falter for a minute. "I hope I'm saying the right things… I mean, I hope I'm telling Maureen what you would tell her if you could… And I hope I'm not imposing or anything right now." I'm suddenly aware that my voice, as well as my entire body, is shaking. "I know if you were still here you'd probably be pretty unsure about me, but I promise I'll take care of Maureen, and I'll try to do as good a job of it as I know you would if you were still here. I- I love her. I really love her. I know I'm not anything like Mark, but I think maybe that will turn out to be a good thing… So, I just… thought you should know that… Goodbye, April."

I turn back around and meet Maureen's eyes. I'm terrified of how she'll feel about what I've just done. _Was it too much? Was it insensitive? Have I ruined everything?_

Even from a few feet away I can see tears flood Maureen's eyes, and they quickly begin to leak down her cheeks. She takes in a shaky breath. "Joanne," she chokes out as she strides toward me. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and I snake mine around her waist. We're both in tears and both trembling uncontrollably. For a very long time we do nothing but stand in that isolated corner of the cemetery and cling to each other as though each other are the only things we have left in the world.


	25. Understand

[Author's Note: I feel so bad for neglecting this story! I really don't mean to do it, but the end of the semester has been taking up all the time and energy I have to offer. I promise I'll be back to the two or so per week once exams are over, but until then thank you for being patient with my antics!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Five: Understand

December 15, 5:00 PM, EST

"_Joanne!_" Maureen squeals as she bursts into the apartment. "_He wrote back!_"

"Well, of course he wrote back: he's your friend, isn't he?" I reply from the couch. But I can't help smiling at Maureen's excitement.

"Oh, shut up and listen to what he said!" Maureen steps onto and over the coffee table, which she knows annoys me, and plops down in my lap. She clears her throat dramatically and reads:

"_Dear Mo, by the time you get this I'll probably be home in almost exactly a week, and I can't wait to see your big show. We all know that that high-society nonsense isn't where Benny belongs- I hope you'll prove that to him once and for all._

_ Anyway, I hope you realize that when I get there I'll be expecting a full explanation of what happened between you and Mark, and I'll be the judge of what kind of punishment he needs. Also, you'd better warn 'mystery person' that they're going to have to be subjected to all the rites and rituals associated with earning the Tom Collins Seal of Approval._

_ It sounds like you've been doing a pretty bang-up job of it, so keep taking care of yourself. See you soon, kiddo. Love, Collins._"

"Aww… You two are so adorable."

Maureen giggles and gives me a quick kiss. "It's ten times worse than he makes it sound, you know." I give her a questioning look, and she continues. "When he found out that Mark and I were going out, he lectured Mark for, like, two hours about what a perfect gentleman he was going to be to me and all this garbage."

"And these ended up being all the things Mark didn't do?"

She heaves a sigh and snuggles against me. "Essentially, yes."

"I just can't understand it," I admit while I lie down and pull her on top of me again.

"What?" she asks, curling into my side and nuzzling the underside of my chin.

"I just don't understand how anyone could ever bear to do anything that might hurt you. I mean, I… I'd never be able to live with myself."

"Oh, whatever. Everybody gets over that feeling eventually. You just haven't been around me long enough."

Out of instinct I try to bring her closer to me, but it isn't possible. "You can't say that," I tell her. I'm vaguely disgusted by how pathetic and whiny I sound. "You act like you're not worth anything." She has to think on that one for a little while, but her response makes me feel awful:

"I wish I could show you what things look like to me, Joanne," she says slowly. "I wish I could explain everything and show you how it really is… I think our lives have been a lot different; I don't think you know what I mean when I try to tell you that no one has ever been able to convince me that I'm all that important. You know how you're supposed to have to hear, like, five good things about yourself to cancel out one bad thing someone says about you? As far as I can tell that's definitely true… and the people who care about me can't even catch up- much less get to a five-to-one ratio."

For a minute or two I can't decide what exactly to tell her. I don't want to upset her, and I don't want to make it sound like I could be simply arguing for the sake of arguing. But finally I realize exactly what it is I want her to hear: "I can do five-to-one," I say while I trace slow, gentle patterns on her calf with my foot, "I just need a little bit more time."


	26. Illogical

[Author's Note: I'm back! It's been longer than forever, but I'm finally done with finals week and all the rest of the mixed bag of chaos that's been going on lately. I kept this one pretty short because I feel like I need to kind of work my way back into the groove of the story and whatever, and I don't want to do any major damage while I'm trying to sort myself out. So: enjoy; more is coming in the next day or two; have a very merry Christmas; and please get into the Christmas spirit and give me the gift of a review! Love and well wishes to all my readers!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-six: Illogical

December 16, 8:00 AM, EST

The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is the note taped to my forehead. "_You are the most blatantly illogical person I have ever know,_" I think. I remove the piece of paper and squint at it, eyes still bleary from sleep. It says:

_Good morning, Joey! I have to go talk to Mark and make sure he realizes that he's still my production manager, and I figured the earlier I went the more likely he would still be sitting around the loft. I'll be back sometime before lunch. And remember what I said: if a suspicious-looking guy shows up outside the door, it's probably Collins, so you'd better let him in… But first make sure it's actually him and not a murderer or anything. Love you! xoxo_

I roll my eyes at Maureen's overall lack of coherent thought, but then I acknowledge the fact that this is really pretty impressive for Maureen Johnson at heaven-knows-when in the morning. Then something hits me: she's going to go convince Mark to work with her again.

I'm sure that under normal circumstances Mark is a perfectly lovely human being, but let's face it: Maureen's and his relationship no longer fits under the category of 'normal circumstances'. Maybe now that he and Maureen aren't together things will be different- from what Maureen told me a while ago, it seemed like he was regretting things the day she went back for her stuff- but I don't think it's worth giving him the benefit of the doubt. After her little breakdown a week or so ago, I don't think she needs to take any chances. She doesn't need any more negativity put into her head, and I don't trust Mark not to do that. For all his potential guilt, I think he's genuinely oblivious.

If I'm being honest, I've thought a lot about Maureen's ex-boyfriend, and I don't trust him. The thing that scares me is that I don't think he really understands what he did wrong. He can see some of it, sure, but he doesn't realize the huge effect he still has on her. He fell for the lie.

The lie: Maureen's perfect little façade that covers up all the pain and makes her appear invincible. To anyone on the outside, she's the brazen, loud-mouthed, and dramatic center of attention. But the closer you get to her, the more you can see the fact that she's terrified. She's told me that she's never seen anyone so afraid of people as I am, but I almost wonder if she had to remove herself from the list in order to make that statement accurate. The more I've gotten to know her, the more I've realized that she's really not who she says she is. But she is a very impressive actress.


	27. You

[Author's Note: Okay, I didn't get this up quite as soon as I expected, but I don't think three days is too unacceptable. And I think I can have at least one more up by the end of the day. Probably more. We'll see what happens. Anyway: thank you, thank you, thank you with adoration-filled cherries on top for all of the incredible reviews/PMs I've received in the last few days. I'm way behind with my PM-ing, but you'll each be seeing something from me soon. However, I just wanted to say publicly that your comments mean the world to me, and you have no idea how incredible it makes me feel that my writing is having the kind of impact on people that you've told me about. So, thank you. I also just want to put this out there: I will absolutely consider story/chapter requests if you send them to me. I make no promises, but I will see if it's something I think I could write well. Finally, to all my readers, I genuinely love all of you guys, and you'll always be in my prayers. Best wishes to each of you!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Seven: You

December 16, 11:25 AM, EST

"I'm home!" Maureen yells as she walks through the door. I hear it slam shut behind her and she soon emerges through the kitchen door.

"You're firing him," I state bluntly, turning around to face her. I punctuate the statement by setting down the banana I was about to eat.

"Excuse me?"

"You're firing him. I don't want you working with Mark."

I see the confusion etched across Maureen's face but assume that it's fake. "Why?" she asks as innocently as she can manage. I sigh and massage my temples for a few seconds. "Joanne, what's this about? Are you still worried I'm going to take him back or something?"

Of course she would figure it out. _Of course_. "I don't know, okay? I can come up with plenty of good reasons for you not to keep him around, but that's one of them, yes!" Without really knowing why, I storm out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. I flop down in the center of the bed on my back at the same time Maureen walks in. She lies down next to me and takes my hand.

"Where is this coming from?" she asks me. "You know I don't want him back- not like that."

"Do I?" I respond.

"Don't you?" she asks. She moves our connected hands to rest on her stomach.

I shake my head a little. "I don't think I do," I tell her quietly. "How can I know you won't take him back when he's treated you like dirt, and you're still willing to let him waltz right back in and do it all over again after one pathetic apology? People lie, Maureen; I'm not going to just sit here and let him wreck everything for you again! But, yeah, I'm scared you'll let him. I'm scared I'm not important enough for you to keep over him…"

"How can you say that to me?" Maureen chokes, dropping my hand and sitting upright. "Do you really not get it? Do you really not see that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me in my whole pathetic life?!"

"I- I don't know," I answer, feeling guilty. I sit up too, but I scoot away from her. Presenting a case in trial doesn't bother me, but confrontation in the 'real world' freaks me out. I hate feeling like I don't have the control. "You've got at least a good two dozen people who would gladly take my place. Who's to say you won't decide the uptight, introverted lawyer isn't worth it?"

"Joanne, of course you're worth it. You're worth anything. You're _priceless…_ Come here," she tells me, but I don't move. She slides up next to me and wraps her arms around me. "Look, if it means this much to you, I don't have to keep Mark as my production manager next time, but Christmas Eve is in, like, a week. How am I going to find anybody to do it between now and then?"

"I don't know…" I rest my head on her shoulder, "We could hire somebody: electrician, engineer, whatever. Somebody's got to do this stuff professionally, right?"

"Well, of course, but hiring it done goes against everything I believe in! It's so… _theatre district_."

"What's wrong with that? I thought the goal was for you to get hired into the theatre district."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but why would I act like I'm there already when I'm not? That ruins the excitement of _getting there._" As much as I hate to admit it, Maureen is on the verge of making logical sense. But then it happens. "_Ohmygosh! YOU!_"

I lean away from her by a few inches. "What about me?"

"_You _could be my production manager for next week!" she beams.

"Maureen, no. I'm not a theatre person; I know less than nothing about this stuff. I'm not even worth considering for that job."

"Oh, come on, Joanne, _pleeeeeeeeaaasssse?_"

"Maur-"

"What's the harm, Joanne? We'll give the tech-y stuff our best shot, and if we can't figure it out, you can hire somebody. _Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaasssss se?_" She's sitting on her knees in front of me with a virtually irresistible pout on her face. Her big, green eyes look so sweet and innocent and helpless that it's no wonder I agree to take it on.

What a mistake.


	28. Unsavory

[Author's Note: Okay, I'm the first to admit that this isn't an exciting chapter. I'm also the first to admit that this is nothing but filler. However- and this is a big however- the next chapter is going to action-packed and extremely exciting. In fact, it's the moment we've all been waiting for… So hurry up and read it so you can move on to twenty-nine!]

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Unsavory

December 17, 12:15 PM, EST

I pull my unsavory-looking roast beef sandwich out of the somewhat crumpled brown paper bag in front of me and sigh. It's close enough, I suppose. Besides, I have to eat pretty quickly because my next client apparently just absolutely needed a 12:30 meeting, which is really excellent for those of us who are losing most of their lunch break because of it.

Just as I'm really getting on a roll with this little rant, my dad walks into the break room. "You aren't going out for lunch today?"

"Client meeting in…" I glance down at my watch, "thirteen."

"Ouch. Nothing like the last week before a holiday is there?"

"Not even close."

"So, what are you doing for Christmas, anyway?"

"Well, we've got a busy night Christmas Eve, but Christmas Day I guess Maureen and I will probably just stay home."

There's a surprisingly long pause. "Maureen?"

"_Curse everything,_" I think. "Right… Yeah, I guess I didn't really mention her before did I? She's my girlfriend."

"She's what?"

He's both my father and my boss, so I probably shouldn't roll my eyes. But I can't help it. "Yes, dad. We've been over this. And you heard me correctly."

For a minute he just looks at me. It's torture. It's exactly the kind of scrutiny that makes me want to shrivel up and die. Finally he just shakes his head. "I just don't understand why you do this," he says evenly.

Furious, I shoot up out of my chair before I really even know what I'm doing. I bump the table, which conveniently broke a few weeks ago, and it wobbles, sending my pitiful sandwich sliding to the floor. "What do you think?! That I'm just trying to spite you with my love life or something?! Do you realize how ridiculous you sound when you make comments like that?!" I blow past him and out the door.

I dash to my office and shut the door. I check the watch again. Eight minutes. Eight minutes to calm down.

"_Deep breaths_," I tell myself, "_Just relax. He's your dad; parents say things they don't mean all the time. He was just caught off guard, that's all._" I hate that I do this to myself. I hate that I get so upset so easily. I hate how obvious it is how much control people have over me. And I _hate_ that I'm the type of person who cries when they get mad.

Five minutes. The things I've been through are nothing compared to so many people's lives, so why can't I come to terms with it? There's no reason I shouldn't be able to get over a bunch of stupid comments made by children so many years ago. But any amount of judgment or destructive criticism sends me straight back to the time and place in which I wasn't normal, wasn't right, wasn't good enough for anyone.

Two minutes. I glance at my reflection in the semi-reflective blank computer screen and rub away the slight smudges to my eye makeup. "_Just be good enough in court. That's all that really matters. Don't try to be good enough in the rest of your life. Just focus on work. Focus on work._"

And the client is here.


	29. Here

Snow Day

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Here

December 17, 12:15 PM, EST

For two hours I've been rewriting this script. "_Maybe the paper plate needs to come after that…_" I think, but then I just toss the pen aside and sprawl out on the floor. Maybe some food would inspire me. While I'm considering my food options, there's a knock on the door. Reluctantly, I trudge over and look through the peephole.

"YOU'RE HERE!" I scream, while I fling the door open. Collins grins and then picks me up off the ground in a huge bear hug. He kicks the door shut, crosses the room, drops me on the couch, and sits down next to me.

"How ya been, kiddo?" he asks with a broad grin.

"Great! You've missed so much, though! I can't believe you stayed away that long!" I'm bouncing up and down on the couch cushions from excitement while tell him this.

"I know, I know," he suddenly gets quieter. "I can't believe I haven't seen you guys since the funeral." I nod. I don't have much to say to that. "But, you know what, let's not linger on that, shall we? Why don't you tell me what the deal is with you and Mr. Cohen, hm?"

I feel bad that I'm about to bring the light, happy mood so far down, but I guess it can't be helped. "Well, um, you know how he was. He… um… He always thought I should be able to get a grip on myself, but I can't."

"You can, Maureen."

"Shut up." It's a little harsh, but I can't help thinking that he of all people should know by now that I can't 'get a grip'.

"I'll admit, it wasn't going to happen the way things were going with you two when I left." Neither of us says anything for a while. "I tried before I left to get him to figure it out. I know it didn't do any good, but I really did try."

I ignore those comments and just focus on explaining what happened like he asked originally. I'm not going to break down in front of him anymore. For the sake of what's left of my sanity, I'll give myself one person that I can break down in front of, and I guess that's Joanne now. If the list gets any longer than that, people will start to figure out what a pathetic freak I am. "He found out that I was having kind of an… um… anorexia- or whatever you want to call it- relapse, I guess you'd say… I don't really know how it all happened, but it started this big fight, and I left." I hate that word: anorexia. I don't have some kind of disease. I just want to be skinny really freaking bad.

Collins sits there and nods in a very philosophical and professor-like way. Or what I imagine is a philosophical and professor-like way. "Left under what circumstances?"

I stare down at my lap. I can feel my cheeks burning, and I wrack my brain for a lie I can tell convincingly. But he's Collins. I can't lie to Collins. "He kicked me out," I mumble.

"The boy's dead."

"Collins!"

"Sorry, sorry." He sighs and doesn't say anything for a while. "I just- He has no idea how much trouble he's in for. How's that?"

"It's really not that big of a deal, Collins," I find myself saying. "I didn't need him after all… I found someone better."

"Ah, so we arrive at the topic of the mystery person whose house I find you in." I laugh and lean up against him.

"Yes, we do."

"Alright, who is this guy? Is he going to treat you as well as you deserve to be?"

"This isn't my boyfriend's place," I say simply. But in my head I add in the fact that Mark treated me how I deserved to be, Collins just wants me treated better than I deserve.

Collins looks down at me with a confused expression. "Then what are we doing here?"

"Well," I say slowly, "you may or may not be surprised to find out that this is the apartment I share with my _girlfriend_."

"Now, when you say 'girlfriend', you do in fact mean that she's a girl that you're in a romantic relationship with- not just a friend who is a girl?"

"Surprise." I say weakly. It's not that I'm afraid of a bad reaction from him about the concept in and of itself, but I am afraid he's going to be furious with me for lying to him for so long.

Thankfully, he seems to take it in stride for now. He smiles a little. "You mean all those years I joked around about you being bi, I was actually right?"

"No," I respond.

"Maureen," Collins says incredulously, "don't tell me…?" I nod. "But Mark!"

My face flushes what I'm sure is at least twenty shades darker than normal. "It was just stupidity and…" The 'and' is out before I can stop it, so I'm forced to say the last word: the word I never say out loud. Not about me, at least. The 'I' word: "insecurity," I add under my breath.


	30. Truth

[Author's Note: Okay, I hate saying this about my writing, but I really don't like this chapter. I guess I'm just not really feeling it right now, but I felt like I should get a chapter up. I don't know… The next one will be better, let's just leave it at that.]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty: Truth

December 17, 12:30 PM, EST

Collins catches it, though. He puts an arm around my shoulders. "So you're finally willing to admit it, huh?" I shove his arm off of me and scoot away from him.

"Can we please just go back to talking about Joanne?" I mutter bitterly.

Thankfully, he obliges. "Alright, what's Joanne like?"

Inexplicably, even just hearing him say her _name_ makes me soften. I smile a little to myself before turning my head back and looking up at him. "Should I give you the nice, watered-down, truth-without-emotion version? Or should I just tell you the truth- the whole truth?"

"Maureen Johnson is offering the whole truth? With all the emotion? I don't believe it."

"I guess I am."

"What's happened to you since I've been gone, Mo?" he asks me. He's giving me his most loving, fatherly smile: the one my real father never gave me.

"_She_ did."

"You're only making this harder for her, you know." He winks at me. "Now she's going to have to live up to my expectations _and _your description."

"Please, she'll do that all easily. She's perfect, Collins." I pause, shaking my head a little bit. "I swear she can read my mind: she knows exactly what to say no matter what, and she knows exactly what I mean when I don't know how to say what I'm thinking. She's generous and loving and kind, even when she doesn't have a single good reason to be. She's brave, and protective, and she's the smartest person I've ever met… I love her… more than anyone else I've ever known," I finish quietly.

"Wow, Maureen…" Collins says. I can feel myself blushing, but I can't bring myself to care. Maybe everybody's been right all this time: maybe this whole 'opening up' thing isn't always so terrible after all. It's seemed to work well enough lately. "So, when you wrote that you had been talking to people instead of hurting yourself, you were talking about her?" I nod, and Collins nods back. "I mean, I assumed that the 'mystery person' you were talking about had something to do with it, I just… you sure know how to throw a curveball, you know that?"

I grin. "Yeah, I know. And you haven't even heard the whole story yet! What would you say if I told you this girl snagged a _lawyer_?" Collins gives me a look of incredulity. "I know! I wouldn't believe it either, if I wasn't with her myself!"

Collins laughs a little bit. "You know, the more time I spend with you, the more I realize April was right about you all along: you're just crazy enough to completely change this world."


	31. Good Reason

[Author's Note: You have no idea how ashamed I am to even show my face here. I have been a terrible author lately, and I want to apologize. I can explain all the reasons for my absence- ask in a review or PM if you really want to hear them- but I won't bore you with that stuff here. So, just know that I am ashamed, and I will do better. This I swear by the stars. (I had to say it.) Hope this one's almost worth the wait sort of!]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-One: Good Reason

December 17, 4:00 PM, EST

"Maureen, I'm back!" I call down the hall as I enter the apartment. Immediately after, I turn my head toward the living room to see a man in what seems to be a safety-orange crossing guard's jacket looking back at me; he smiles. "Um… Hi?" I ask more so than I state.

He responds with an amicable grin and says, "Hi. Sorry I'm, you know, intruding upon your home, essentially… I'm Collins- if that clarifies anything." He stands up and crosses the room to shake my hand.

"Collins! Oh, gosh- Yeah, that clarifies everything! I'm Joanne- I guess maybe you know that, since you're here and everything, but… Yeah, it's great to meet you!"

"And the same to you; I've heard good things." He winks.

I chuckle and shake my head. "I can only imagine, I'm sure."

"Joanne, darling!" Maureen trills dramatically as she sashays into the room. "Why are you so quiet? I didn't even hear you come in!"

"Maureen, I yelled at you," I counter, turning away from Collins to face her. "Maybe you're just going deaf from listening to yourself scream into a microphone all the time." I offer her a little smirk, and she sticks her tongue out while she comes up to us and attaches herself to Collins' arm.

"You're making a bad impression, Joey," Maureen chides.

"Are you two a stand-up comedy act or something?" Collins cuts in.

Maureen gasps and looks from Collins to me with wide eyes. "We could be!" she squeals.

Ignoring her, I address Collins again. "So, I hear you're teaching at MIT?" Maureen pouts indignantly when she sees that she isn't going to get a reaction.

"Until a few days ago, yeah. Guess I'm off to try my luck at NYU again now. Where did you go to school?"

"Harvard," I say somewhat softly. I'm painfully aware of the stigma attached to Harvard Law School. Collins flashes an 'is this for real?' look at Maureen, who switches sides to attach herself to me.

"Wow," he says, "impressive." Maureen gives him a look of superiority before gesturing to the couch. Collins and I sit down, and Maureen plops down into my lap and makes some sort of gesture toward the man sitting next to us.

And so it begins. "So, I hear you're perfect," Collins says to me.

I glance at Maureen, who glances back coolly. "I… I think you've been _greatly_ misinformed."

He simply nods. "Really; then why would someone tell me such a thing?"

I'm beginning to think that I have absolutely no desire to play this game, but I don't see any way out of it. "Well, I think your information is probably very opinion-based: opinions aren't necessarily factually accurate."

"True," he concedes, "but let's cut to the chase here: how did this" -he makes an encompassing motion around Maureen and me- "happen?"

I look at Maureen to see if I'm supposed to answer. Something about her looks as though she's trying to disappear; I take that as a 'yes'. "Well… I was walking home from work, and I took this kind of back way… And Maureen was there. And she was crying… And then we went for coffee, and we ended up here… And neither of us could really come up with a reason for her to leave." I glance at Maureen again, smiling, and she smiles back at me and leans up against me, seemingly content with her unavoidable visibility once again.

Collins seems fairly pleased with my answer, and for a minute or two he just looks at me. I try to subtly hide behind Maureen, which really isn't too difficult with her on top of me.

"Okay, can I ask a serious question? Not that the others aren't serious, as well, but- in all honesty- what were you thinking taking some random person off the street to your house? I mean, really, that's a good way to get yourself killed."

"Oh, please, there was nothing threatening about her. If we're going to say Maureen looks dangerous, then we have to say that _we_ look _horrifying_. Come on, now, what was she going to do anybody?" I ask, almost unconsciously twirling my fingers through Maureen's dark hair.

"Well, of course Maureen couldn't hurt anybody, but you didn't know that!"

"Okay, look: I'm not going to get myself killed, and I'm not going to get her killed. Fair enough?"

Before Collins can respond, Maureen throws in, "But she _can_ get people the death penalty sometimes! She hasn't done that recently, though." For a few seconds I wait for her to crack a smile, but she's saying this in all seriousness. I give her an unmistakable look that simply asks 'why?' But she isn't paying attention.

"So, does this whole 'dating an attorney' thing mean we're going to have to behave now?" Collins asks Maureen.

"What? No! What she doesn't know won't hurt her!" My eyes widen indignantly, and Maureen pats my head sympathetically. "No, no, we'll be good, really," she tries fairly weakly.

"Okay, seriously this time, Joanne: what on Earth were you thinking that day?"

"What was I thinking? …Well, I was thinking that I was really cold, so she must be practically freezing to death. I was thinking how much I hate to see people cry. I was thinking that she looked terrified and like she needed someone to take care of her, at least for a couple hours. I was thinking that, for various reasons, no one that small could possibly last more than a few days on the street. I was thinking that I wasn't going to let anyone who was obviously so hurt and scared and innocent and sweet waste away on the streets. Maybe it was love at first sight or something, I don't know."

After a pause, Collins quietly says, "Maureen, I'm so sorry I let you and Mark stay together all that time."


	32. Scour

[Author's Note: Well, I just ashamed myself on tumblr, and as a matter of fact, tumblr is kind of broken right now, and I'm not sure what's happening. But the good news for all of you is that because my blogging isn't working out so well at the moment, I'm actually writing stuff for a change. I don't know how many chapters I'll get up this weekend: the goal was three, but that's seeming less likely the more I think about it. Anyway, enjoy. If you're still enjoying this, please tell me so. I've been in need of a little inspiration lately. Also, how would you guys feel if I threw in some of Collins' POV in the near (such as possibly next chapter) future?]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-Two: Scour

December 17, 8:30 PM, EST

"Just… bond or something! I'll be back in a couple hours!" Maureen calls on her way out the door.

"Look," Collins begins as soon as she's gone, "I'm really sorry Maureen just invited me to stay here without mentioning it to you. I can figure something else out if you want."

"No, no. Really," I tell him, "there's no point in that. There isn't actually a second bed, but the couch is free for the taking. Make yourself at home." We're sitting on the couch right now, drinking Diet Coke, and essentially ignoring the various newscasters flashing across the TV screen.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," I tell him. For a few minutes we listen to a report about the oil spill in Alaska; I doubt that this is what Maureen was suggesting when she told us to 'bond'.

But after a little while, Collins asks, "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I haven't seen her look this healthy in years."

For a little while I just look at him. "Really?" I finally ask. I can tell the hesitation in my voice worries him.

"Really. And I'm not saying this to put pressure on you or anything, but it's clear that you're the reason for it." I nod slowly. "I have to ask, though, do you really have any idea what you've gotten yourself into with her- I mean, don't take that the wrong way- I love the kid, but… she has more than her fair share of problems, you know?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea of it." I don't say anything for quite some time, though I'm sure he can tell I'm trying to.

"What is it?" he finally asks.

"Well, it's just… I feel like she'd be mad at me for telling you-"

"So it's probably something I should know about."

"It might not hurt." He makes a gesture that says 'go on'. "You know that letter she sent you where she said that she hadn't been cutting herself or anything?" He nods. "She didn't want you to know because she thought you'd think she was lying, but, um… there was one day…"

"Oh, no. You at least knew… I mean, you had known then that that… happens… right?"

"Yeah," I say quickly.

"You want to explain?"

"Sure, it might be good, I guess… Uh, let's see… Well, we were both doing our makeup, you know, and I asked her why she was so attached to the red lipstick."

"Oh, no…"

"Oh, yes. You can about imagine what happened from there, I'm sure."

Collins nods. "How bad did it get?"

"I don't really know, I guess. Nothing to compare it to."

"Did she pass out?"

"She was close, but she didn't."

"Really? How long- I mean, wait- how did she end up with the knife in her hand if you guys were in the same room?"

"She thought I was lying to her, so she stormed out and locked herself in the bedroom. She had about six, seven minutes before I got in there, but I don't know when in that window the knife came into the picture."

Collins doesn't answer for a long time, and I start to worry I've said something I shouldn't have. But as soon as he speaks, I realize it. "Joanne, can you offer any explanation of why there was a knife in your bedroom?" I can feel myself blanch.

"You don't think…?"

"I think it would be in everyone's best interest if we scoured this place before she gets back."


	33. Bad

[Author's Note: This is extremely awkward. I honestly thought I had posted this two weeks ago. I am so sorry! I swear on my life I put this up… Okay, I don't know what's going on. All I can say is that it's February, which is an extremely hectic month for me, and I'm going to be a total spaz for a couple of weeks. I apologize again, I hope you enjoy the next two chapters, and I'll try to update as much as possible amid the chaos. *Goes away and hides out of shame*]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-Three: Bad

December 18, 12:15 AM, EST

"Hi… Honey," I say when Maureen opens the door. She's clearly thrown by the fact that she didn't even get a word in first, and probably more so by the look on my face.

"Hi, Joanne… Is everything okay?"

"Actually, Mo, I think _you_ should answer that for _us_," Collins chimes in behind me. Maureen looks past me and toward him, but I can tell by the look that settles on her face that her eyes have locked on the results of our search: a grand total of five knives found hidden around the apartment, including the one from the bedroom that day, which was apparently re-hidden under the bed after I took it back to the kitchen that afternoon.

The longer she stares in the way that she is, the more it unnerves me, but Collins doesn't seem fazed by it. Suddenly Maureen's attention snaps back to me. "What did you do?!" she demands.

"Maureen, listen to me: I swear I would never breathe a word of this to anyone else but him. He's Collins! He wants to help you and protect you just as much as I do; you know that. I just wanted to know that I wasn't going to do more harm than good, that's all. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't want to hurt you like all these other people have; I just needed someone to help me figure out how I'm supposed to do keep that from happening."

I brace myself for an explosive reaction, but Maureen doesn't even respond. Her attention snaps to Collins. "I wasn't lying, I swear!" she pleads.

"She really wasn't," I throw in. I genuinely do want to help her convince him, but I'm also hoping my efforts will lead to a lesser backlash from the fact that I spilled the beans to him in the first place. "It happened after she sent the letter."

"Mo, come here," Collins tells her. She takes a step back, and I lift my arm to place it on her back, to keep her from running away from us, but she pushes it away. "I believe you, Maureen. Okay? I trust you. And you need to trust us, too…"

"Make me!" she screams, and she dashes for the bedroom. I don't react fast enough to do anything about it, but Collins has clearly seen this coming. He follows close on her heels, jamming his foot between the door and the frame right as she tries to slam it. I hear the loud _thump_ of Maureen flinging herself on the bed.

"Just give us a minute," Collins says, and he disappears into the small room, closing the door behind him.

Alone in the living room, I sit for twenty minutes just staring at the blades she hid around the house: one in the very back of the cabinet under the bathroom sink; one stuffed up under the cushion of a chair; one in the bottom of one of her dresser drawers, wrapped in some kind of leather jumpsuit; one on the very top shelf of the linen closet; and one, of course, under the bed.

_"Am I really this blind?"_ I wonder. I can't stop myself from imagining dozens of scenes in which Maureen puts these implements to use behind my back, without my ever noticing a thing. And after twenty minutes of staring and berating myself, I can't help it: I break down.

No more than two minutes later, I hear the bedroom door open. Collins is barely audible saying, "See, Mo? She's scared to death for you. All she wants to do is help." I look up at about the same time Maureen crashes down on top of me. I don't know whether I'm being tackled out of anger or hugged out of affection until she moves over a little and loops her arms around my waist.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles close to my ear. Her voice sounds tiny and fearful. I suppose she's scared I'll react the same way Mark did and tell her just to get lost.

"I know you are," I respond just as quietly, "but you know I have to ask now… Have you used them?"

She blinks a few times, clearly trying to dry her eyes. "Not yet."

I gently bring her head down to rest on my shoulder and stroke her hair, which seems to relax her quite a bit. "What do you mean by that?"

"I hid them all the day after I officially moved in here, but, except for that one time, I haven't used them yet."

"You're planning to, though?"

"I- It's not that- I don't really _plan_ it, but… I don't know how to explain it." She plays with one of the navy blue plastic buttons on my jacket and doesn't look at me.

"Well, why don't you just try? Just give it a shot, for my sake." She thinks about this for a few minutes, which I spend pulling her onto my lap and rubbing her back softly. I feel her snuggle against me, and I smile a little. She does the same.

"It's not like I specifically plan to do it," she says slowly, the smile disappearing, "I just wanted them there for whenever I decided I needed to."

"And what would have to happen to make you decide that?"

"I don't know… I guess it's usually… It usually happens on days when I'm thinking about bad stuff."

"What kinds of bad stuff do you think about?" I ask. The way she said it makes me nervous for some reason, but I can't really explain what it is.

"Mmm… I don't know. Just… just bad stuff, like April dying, Roger hitting me-"

_"Excuse me?"_ Collins cuts in from across the room.


	34. Switch

[Author's Note: Okay, well, I thought I had given you guys the last chapter ages ago, but now you get these two at once because I suck, and I can't think straight this month, and I have hit a wall in terms of exhaustion, and I don't even know what is happening at the moment. Just read my chapter and ignore my mental breakdown, please.]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-Four: Switch

December 18, 1:35 AM, EST

Immediately I realize my mistake. Since when have I gotten so bad at lying? "Collins, it wasn't like that, I swear!"

"Well, then I'd love to have someone explain to me how Roger hitting you isn't like Roger hitting you! What is going on, Maureen? And since when are you willing to lie to protect _Roger_ of all people?"

"I don't know…" I cry, burrowing into Joanne's side. All I can think is that this is it: this is going to be the moment Collins finally writes me off as a lost cause. I hear a sigh from across the room, and I feel the shift of Collins sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know…" I whimper again. I'm almost in awe of how incredibly pathetic I am.

"Okay, look: if it's really somehow 'not like that', just explain it to me, Maureen. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt if you'll just give me an explanation."

"He didn't mean to!" I wail. I feel Joanne's arms tighten around me slightly, which only makes me cry harder.

After a few minutes of awkward silence filled only by my badly restrained crying, Joanne tilts her head down so she can whisper in my ear, "Why don't you just start by telling him what you told me that first day?"

"It's logical," she tells me after a pause, "and logic is what wins cases. He's right when he says you have no reason to lie to protect Roger, so explaining your reasoning only strengthens your case."

I cut into her train of thought, saying, "Stop being a lawyer! I'm upset!"

She sighs. "Alright, fine, but I'm only trying to tell you you're right in the best way I know how."

For a minute we all seem stuck. After a while, though, I heave an enormous sigh and start in. "I never told you because I didn't want you to freak out on him like I knew you would." Collins looks indignant, and I fire a glare at him that says 'you know exactly what I'm talking about'. "Believe it or not, I actually do have a reason to protect him or defend him or whatever…" I trail. I expect myself to finish, but the words stop coming.

"And what reason might that be?" Collins asks me. I can tell he's trying hard not to be angry, but I know how hurt he must be that I kept this away from him. He's upset and guilty that he couldn't protect me: he has that whole 'paternal instinct' thing people talk about, although I've never really seen paternity as being very closely related to protectiveness.

"Haven't you ever figured it out, Collins? Roger and I have the same problems! He didn't attack me: the drugs attacked me- or the need for them, at least. We've got the same issues, deep down. I mean, do you think he really wanted to be an addict? Of course he didn't: no more than I want to mangle myself with one of those," I explain, gesturing to the neat, little row of my secrets lined up on the coffee table. "We both do things that we hate, and that other people hate, and that hurt us, and that hurt those other people who hate those things with us. But we keep on causing all that hatred and pain because we _can't stop_. Do you think if I could just flip a switch in my brain and be done with all the self-harm stuff that I wouldn't?" I cringe a little at the term 'self-harm'. I hate that term. Quite frankly, I'd still say it's self-_help _more than anything. "I tried to protect him because I understand what it's like to _be _him."


	35. Contention

[Author's Note: I'm back! I was almost prompt this time! Anyway, if you're curious, this whole Roger tangent was never actually planned, but I'm really liking it. I hope you are as well. Let me know! Also, thoughts on the POV change? Happy reading!]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-Five: Contention

December 18, 3:20 AM, EST

Maybe we should be talking this all out right now instead of pretending to sleep. I was probably stupid to say that I needed rest and time to think before I could comment on her confession about Roger. But in the moment it was too much all at once, and I didn't want to say something that would make her question the fact that she's finally taking a step in the right direction, whether or not she acknowledges or desires it.

At the same time, though, I'm horrified. Obviously Roger hasn't exactly been himself lately, but I just can't really wrap my mind around the idea that he's capable of hurting her. I know for a fact that Maureen is convinced Roger dislikes her, but, realistically, she doesn't truly believe anyone likes her.

It's an interesting experience: friendship with Maureen. There's nothing about it I regret, but I can't say that it's easy, either. The constant worry takes a toll after a while. The thing that's impossible to get over is the fact that I know how much damage she's capable of doing to herself; and, when you get right down to it, there isn't a whole lot I can do to prevent it once she gets it in her head to do that damage. Not that it stops me from trying.

I jolt a little when I hear someone settle into the chair nearby. "Rough night?" I ask, not actually knowing to whom I'm speaking.

"A little." So it's Maureen. "Hate me now?"

"Of course not, Mo," I say as I sit up. I pat the spot next to me, and Maureen moves, shadow-like in the darkness, to fill it. "Is there a reason I should?"

"You wouldn't take me seriously if I tried to list them all." We both sigh. She's hard to read tonight, which isn't unusual but doesn't make it any less frustrating. Then again, it'd be easier to read her if I could see her as well as hear her. I reach over and switch on the reading lamp next to the couch. "I thought it might be easier to talk about without Joanne being part of it. I asked her, and she said 'okay'." I nod and ease my arm around her shoulders. After a couple minutes, I can see that she isn't planning on actually starting the conversation, so I decide to use honesty to prompt her.

"You know, I can't get rid of the feeling that I should have been there- especially now that they fired me. I mean, why did I bother, right?"

"You needed a job, Collins. It's not your fault or anything. Besides, it's not like he beat me within an inch of my life or something. It wasn't much more than uncomfortable." She pulls her lips into a thin line and briefly lifts her eyebrows while tilting her head just slightly. These things, when taken in combination, are clear evidence of dishonesty.

"Really?" I risk asking.

She wavers for a second too long before answering, "Really."

"Then answer this," I say slowly and deliberately, "how bad was it on a scale of one to ten, ten being your father?" Looking across and down at her, I see the corner of her lip twitch up for just a fraction of a second: a well-disguised cringe.

"Roughly seven, and can we not drag my paternal unit into this conversation unnecessarily, thank you?"

"Roughly seven is awfully high, and we both know your father is where this all starts." It's a little more blunt than I would usually be, but she has me out of sorts, what with this new information about our dear, wayward guitarist. Then again, maybe that isn't really an accurate description of him: last I heard, he hadn't touched a guitar since last winter- another side effect of addiction.

"My _dear_ father has precious little to do with anything in my life now, and I'd like to keep it that way," Maureen snaps. I can't help but smile faintly at the malice dripping from the word 'dear'- that fire and spite is exactly the thing that I find so endearing about her.

"Alright, point taken," I concede. I've found it's easier not to push more than one subject at once with her. And it is true that she usually does best on all fronts when her father is kept sufficiently pushed to the back of her mind. "But now- I have to ask- where was Mark in all of this? You can't have still been together when this was going on?"

"Of course we could; why couldn't we be? And why would I have been living there if we weren't?" she asks coarsely.

"I- how, though? He couldn't just- his _girlfriend! _How could he…?"

"I don't know, Collins." The bitter undertone of her voice says a lot even though she's trying to cover it up with a scrim of artificial sympathy. "I guess he was scared. He didn't want to face Roger's withdrawal-induced wrath any more than I did. Look, why does it even matter what he did or why? So, I played the human punching bag again for a few weeks. Big whoop."

"It actually is a rather large whoop, if I may say so." The anger is rising into my voice, and I shove it back down again before continuing. "Maureen, look at me." She obliges but doesn't look all too excited about it. "I know this is kind of a point of contention with us, but, Mo, no matter how little you may think of yourself, you have to understand that he doesn't- that _no one has_- the right to stand by and let you be abused."

She grunts, nonplussed, in response.


	36. Accident

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-Six: Accident

December 18, 4:45 AM, EST

Maureen plods back into the bedroom after maybe an hour and sits at the very end of the bed. I leave her be for a few minutes, but when I hear quiet sniffling I sit up and whisper her name. She flinches and scrambles to try to compose herself.

"Shh… I whisper, crawling to the end of the bed. I drag my palms slowly up her arms until they rest on her shoulders delicately.

"I'm really sorry, Joanne," she says after a while.

"Please don't apologize," I reply. "You can't help it, and I get that."

"I'm willing to bet you're lying," she tells me. But she's twisting around to pull me into her arms as she says it. I close my eyes and enjoy the soft pressure of her cheek against mine. I can feel her smile.

"Is he taking things okay?" I ask without bothering to pull away.

"I don't know," she answers, turning her head to rest her cheek against my shoulder, nuzzling the side of my neck. "I'm not good at reading people, but he seems all right. He's trying not to put the blame on Roger, which I have to admire him for."

"Who's he blaming, though?"

"Himself, mostly," she answers, "and my dad, too."

"Mm hm… You know, you've never actually told me what happened between you and your parents."

"I'm an accident," she says, abruptly breaking apart our hug. "Maybe not in the cosmic, grand-scheme-of-the-universe sense, but to them I'm an accident."

"Maureen…"

"Before you say anything, just think for a second: do I really want to try to convince someone that her parents conceived her intentionally when she's already been told multiple times _by her parents _that that isn't the case?" I sit silently, watching her eyes as they glint with some tiny ray of light that's managed to work its way into the dark room. "I didn't think so," she finishes, sounding deflated.

"It was just always weird, you know? They were both alcoholics- probably on drugs, too, but I can't prove anything- and they would just disappear sometimes. I mean, from the time I was four- five?- years old, I would wake up in the morning and they'd be gone. And I'd have to try to fend for myself for the next couple days, but sure enough they would reappear eventually."

I can hear the clicking sound of Maureen picking at her nail polish as she continues. "It took a few years of school before I really had to accept that that wasn't normal. I met April when I was eight, and I realized from the stuff she said about her family that something wasn't right with mine… I didn't tell anyone though, obviously…"

"Why didn't you? Didn't you ever think that someone could fix things?"

"No," she says, confused. "Of course not. Do you have any idea what they would've done to me if I told anyone what kind of stuff was going on?"

The sudden realization is a slap in the face. "They beat you, didn't they?"

"Mostly just my dad, but yeah."

"Oh, Honeybear," I breathe, pulling her into a crushing hug. She grips me back at least as hard, and I feel tears well up in my eyes all over again.

"If I had said a word," she continues, pulling away again, "they would've killed me- probably literally. It's not like they cared that I existed in the first place. Anyway, I just built up my skills as an actress through it."

"Didn't any of those guys figure it out as you got older, though?" I'm not sure what else to say or do but ask her this.

"Oh, they were always suspicious. They would see how beat up I was sometimes, and they would ask questions. But I'm a really impressive liar when I need to be, so I didn't let them get much further than suspicion… They all know the whole thing now, though. Remember when I said I moved into the loft with all those guys after high school?"

"Yeah."

"I lied a little bit," she confesses almost inaudibly. "I ran away from home at the beginning of my junior year. I was the only one of our little group still in high school, so I just ran away and found everybody in this loft together and joined the club or whatever. I thought about dropping out of school, too, but Collins convinced me not to."

"You- you just left? Did they even look for you?"

She laughs with so little humor that it almost sounds evil. "Nope. It was mutual dis-ownership. Haven't heard from them since." I stare at her blankly. "I guess Collins is probably right with his whole thing about how the bad stuff started because of them."

"Really?" I ask gently, "Why is that?"

"Well, I guess… I- I mean… Well, it's just that… My dad's the one who taught me how to take things out on myself, you know? He always did stuff to hurt me when he was mad. He didn't have to be mad at _me_, and it didn't have to be about something I had anything to do with… I was just there and easy to overpower, so he'd do something to me… Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yes."

"The first time I tried cutting, I tried it because I thought that if hurting me made him feel better then maybe it would help me feel better too. And after that I just kept doing it because it works. That's why I can't really be mad at him, except sometimes I am even though it doesn't make sense."

"Maureen…" I breathe, "of course you can be mad at him. You should be mad at him! You never pressed charges or anything?"

"Don't start with me, Joanne!" she yells at me. "I swear on my life, if you try to do some lawyer thing that you think is going to fix this-"

"Okay, okay, I just… Maureen, do you know how mad it makes me to hear about someone doing things like that to you?" My voice cracks, and I just shake my head.

"It shouldn't," she says softly, forgetting her anger. "It's okay, really. I mean, I can forgive him for it- and my mom, too. They were just messed up, that's all. My mom was one of those weird moms who's always worried about how her daughter looks, and keeping up appearances, and all that stuff… She's the reason I stopped eating the first time…"

"Oh, Baby…" I pull her back into a hug, and we stay like that for a long time. Finally, we let go of each other long enough to crawl back up to the head of the bed and nestle under the covers. After another few minutes of silently holding each other, Maureen quietly says, "You know what?"

"What?"

"I don't want to be nice about it anymore: it's all their fault." Not ten minutes later she's fast asleep in my arms.


	37. Nothing

[Author's Note: Yes, I've been an absentee author again. But this time I have no shame. On top of a ton of other stuff, a friend of mine passed away two weeks ago now, and things have just been kind of rough. So, that's my story. And here is the story you're here for…]

Snow Day

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Nothing

December 18, 10:25 AM, EST

Still caught between awake and asleep, I register a hand on my face. It pats all around my face until it finds my cheek and settles there gently. I groggily open my eyes and am greeted with a wild mess of brown hair. I feel Maureen nuzzle my collarbone gently. She lets out a contented sigh.

Finally, after a few minutes of laying there just enjoying each other's presence, I say, "So, we never really got around to what happened before the, uh… excitement… last night."

"You're awake," Maureen slurs, barely awake herself.

"Yeah. Did you sleep alright?"

"Mmm… yeah," she mumbles, removing her hand from my face and wrapping her arms around me. "You?"

"Yeah." It's not a total lie: I did sleep eventually. But I also spent a good hour or two turning over and over in my mind all of the things Maureen told me- telling myself that I can't start acting differently around her based on what I now know- yet feeling like I can't treat her the same way either.

"Do you have the day off?"

Suddenly, I'm bolt upright. "No." We both stare at each other wide-eyed for a few very long seconds before I chance a look at the alarm clock: 10:27 AM.

"That's not good." I'm already halfway out the door when she says it.

Just as I'm flying into the bathroom, I hear Collins' voice carry down the hallway. "Go back to bed!"

"Excuse me," I begin as I stalk out to the living room, "but now is really not the time for going back to bed."

"Somebody called at about eight. I told them you were detained by a family emergency but would be back bright and early tomorrow. You have…" he glances down at his watch, "roughly twenty-one hours to figure out what that emergency was. Now go sleep like you know you need to."

I stare at him for a minute. "I like you," I say finally.

"As many do, Ms. Jefferson." And at that I give him a grateful smile before turning and heading back into the bedroom.

"Apparently I've got the day off," I inform Maureen while snuggling back in next to her.

"Oh, okay." She inches closer to me until she's curled up on top of me with her head on my shoulder, and I'm suffocating in thick, dark curls. "By the way, since you asked, Mark said he had been thinking that it would make sense for us to just have a break from each other and stuff for a while. I think he just doesn't want me to be around anymore, but that's okay I guess."

"Maybe he's right, though. Maybe after a little breather it'll be easier for you guys to be friends again."

"Yeah… He asked if he could still come and watch, and I said that I wanted him to. I told him to talk Roger into coming, too, but I doubt it'll happen."

"Was he not doing well when you were over there?"

"Well, I don't know," she says dramatically, moving her head as she does. This action sends I tidal wave of curls tumbling into my face. "He wouldn't talk to me."

"Do you think maybe he feels guilty?" I ask once I get her hair out of my mouth.

"I don't know," she mumbles, sounding like she's ready to drift off again. "I guess nothing's impossible right?"


End file.
